


Harry Potter and the Chariot of the Sun

by Philosopherscribe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Activist Hermione Granger, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe-Dark, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Auror Ron Weasley, Autistic Luna Lovegood, BAMF Ginny Weasley, BAMF Ron Weasley, Bechdel Test Pass, Betrayal, Biracial Harry Potter, Bisexual Ginny Weasley, Bisexual Harry Potter, Black Hermione Granger, Bottom Harry Potter, Cults, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Dark Fantasy, Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Harry Potter, Dementors, Desi Harry Potter, Dobby (Harry Potter) Lives, Dom Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy & Luna Lovegood Friendship, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Gay Draco Malfoy, Ginny Weasley is a Good Friend, Het, Hidden Enemies, Indian Harry Potter, Lesbian Luna Lovegood, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Magizoologist Luna Lovegood, Minor Character Death, Minor Lavender Brown/Parvati Patil, Murder Mystery, Mystery Villain, No Ginny Bashing, Not Canon Compliant, Not Epilogue Compliant, Oral Sex, Pining Draco Malfoy, Plot Twists, Psychological Horror, Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley, Rape Fantasy, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Slash, Sub Harry Potter, Surprise Ending, Thriller, Top Draco Malfoy, Vaginal Sex, Women Being Awesome, no ron bashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-02-18 01:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 30,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21519574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosopherscribe/pseuds/Philosopherscribe
Summary: Hot on the trail of a Dementor-worshipping cult, Harry plays a dark game with an old enemy.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Rolf Scamander, Dobby/Winky, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 77
Kudos: 67





	1. Rolf and Astoria

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters belong to J.K. Rowling, much as I wish otherwise. I do not own them or profit from this work.
> 
> Thank you very much to X, S, and DevilRising for agreeing to beta this story. Your input is greatly appreciated!
> 
> This story will be irregularly updated, though I’m doing my best to belt it out as quickly as I can.
> 
> Like many of my other works, this story was loosely inspired by a horror movie called the Wicker Man (1973), and that's the only spoiler I'm going to give you! :)

“It is the Eve of May Day.” Rolf Scamander said. “Dark magic is powerful tonight, and I’ve just been thinking of the past.” The smile on Astoria’s face vanished like a bulb blowing out.

“Whatever do you mean?” She demanded. She stepped behind her husband, rubbing the knots from his shoulders. Her black tights glistened as her high-heeled boots clacked on the ground. Astoria Greengrass Scamander had sleek brown hair and poison-green eyes. Her skin was as pale as the powder from crushed moonstones.

“I went seeking the Jabberwock in the Forbidden Forest tonight. There is a distinct chill in the air I haven’t felt since the demise of Lord Voldemort.” Rolf said simply. “But it is quite unmistakable. The Dementors are on the move, and the Death Eaters are rising again.”

Astoria stared at him. She still struggled to comprehend her husband’s wilder flights of fancy. Rolf was a famous Magizoologist, but many people thought him mad. Astoria had gotten used to the long stares and giggles. Back at Hogwarts, she had been in Slytherin while he was a Hufflepuff. The old Astoria would never have dreamed she’d fall for such a man. Her Granddad would have had a fit.

“The War is over.” She said, painfully aware that her voice was shaking. “The Dark Lord has been dead for ten long years.” She did not need to add that her wealthy, pureblood family had paid the price for backing him. History was not kind to the losers of the world.

Rolf turned to face her. His eyes were very bright, and he was the spitting image of his grandfather at that age. He was so Hufflepuff, so unspoiled by the violence they had witnessed during the War. Sometimes, Astoria wondered what he saw in her.

“The Dark side did not begin or end with Voldemort, nor did he have a monopoly on evil.” He said gently. “Darkness moves in cycles through time; its power waxes and wanes like the moon, like the black water of the sea. Darkness is a Hydra with many heads, and new ones are always bound to grow when you cut one off.”

Outside, the night sky rippled, as black as a lagoon. The setting sun hid its face behind a sea-blue cloud.

“Harry Potter is our Savior.” Astoria said, sounding childish even to her own ears. “He won’t let that happen to us.”

“Harry Potter is a great wizard, and a dear friend of my colleague, Luna Lovegood.” Rolf admitted. “But Potter is only human. We would do well to prepare for the worst.”

In a parallel universe, a Dark witch snarled, hissing faintly at the mention of Harry Potter. She was watching them with rapt attention; the lines between worlds were thin on this night.

The clock struck thirteen with a slow, deep gong. Astoria kissed her husband. “We will sleep now, and speak of this later.” She said.

The couple curled up like a pair of cats, and let sleep take them like the turbulence of the sea...The worlds shifted, as did the force of space and time. A wormhole between Dreams and Reality opened, and they fell through it like babies through their mother’s channel. When they woke up, they were no longer in their beds. They were alone on a deserted island, with dark skies and treacherous water around them. The smell of the air was salty. The full moon shimmered like the smooth insides of a seashell.

“Rolf, where are we?” Astoria asked, her voice still heavy with sleep. Rolf didn’t answer. He was too busy staring at a palace, on top of the hill at the center of the island.

The palace beckoned them with its glittering golden lights. The lights were like the bulbous yellow eyes of a basilisk, paralyzing them, forcing them closer. Thunder rumbled somewhere. They walked the twisted path up the hill. The doors of the palace opened of their own accord. Rolf and Astoria could hear soft singing, like silvery wind chimes in the breeze.

The Dark witch was waiting for them. “Please come in.” She said with a pleasant smile. When Astoria opened her mouth, she held a hand up for silence. “I know everything about you.”

When she turned her head, she reminded Rolf of the pictures of crocodiles he’d seen in Egypt. Something about her seemed vaguely familiar, like a dream inside a dream, but neither of them could place it.

Rolf and Astoria stepped in without a word. Their footsteps echoed around the palace, and the doors slammed shut when they were inside.

The entire room was decorated with pink, red, and white roses. White candles with yellow fire flickered on the tables. The candelabra and carpet were both shaped like golden suns. The Dark witch still wore her strange smile as she gestured up the stairs. The bedroom door was marked with the names Rolf and Astoria.The bedroom looked just like the one they had at home, and the silvery singing grew louder.

“Astoria,” Rolf said slowly. “I think it’s coming from the basement.” He pointed to a trapdoor next to the bed. They opened it, and crawled inside. Astoria squealed as they tumbled down a long, dark shaft.

The couple landed in an underground Temple. In the shadows, Astoria could make out a set of black pillars with stone carvings. Stone serpents winded around the pillars. A crowd of masked wizards in Death Eater robes surrounded them. They seized and dragged them across the room. Many were chanting spells like prayers under their breath. Astoria and Rolf struggled feebly in their grasp. They were dumped and chained to a throne in the middle of the Temple. A painting of a golden chariot sparkled on the wall before them.

“The Heart of the Dark.” Rolf wheezed. The room spun dizzily around him.

“Very clever.” The Dark witch said. “It is the thirteenth hour of May Eve.”

The temperature in the room dropped. Astoria shivered as a throng of cold, hungry Dementors emerged from the shadows. The smell of their rotting, grey-green flesh filled her nostrils, making her gag. All members of the cult bowed low before the creatures. The Dark witch gazed rapturously at them, and turned her gleaming smile back to her prey.

“The Dementors are Gods to us, and we have sought their protection for a regular blood sacrifice. You, as filthy blood traitors with a foolish faith in the Light, are the right kind of blood for this sacrifice.”

At the words “blood sacrifice”, Astoria found her voice. “Whatever you do tonight, that will not change my faith in Harry Potter.” She shouted. “I believe that Harry Potter will find you out. I believe that Harry Potter will bring you to justice!”

There was an angry titter from the crowd, and the witch seemed to seize up at the name. “That is good,” she said through gritted teeth, “for believing as you do, we confer upon you a rare gift these days: a martyr’s death. You will sit among the saints of your side, the heroes of the Light who died in the War!” She spun on her heel, and motioned to the Dementors. “Reverence the sacrifice.”

Rolf and Astoria’s mouths opened in a silent scream, but they held each other even when the Dementors closed in on them.


	2. Draco

_**The Daily Prophet: Married Couple Kissed by Dementors** _

_Rolf and Astoria Scamander have been found Kissed by Dementors, writes Rita Skeeter of The Daily Prophet. The bodies, empty husks, were dumped on their bed. Mr. Scamander was the grandson of Newt Scamander, the hero responsible for the downfall of Gellert Grindelwald. He was also an arrant conspiracy theorist. Among his peers, Mr. Scamander was considered a strange man, best known for believing the Death Eaters are back. His wife, Astoria Scamander nee Greengrass, belonged to a shady pureblood family known to have Death Eater sympathies during the War. Despite, or perhaps because of the fact she enticed an innocent Hufflepuff to marriage, Mrs. Scamander was never able to convince the Wizarding World that she and family had changed. Rumor has it she had a role in the mystery behind their fate._

_Meanwhile, Ronald Granger-Weasley, the newly-appointed Head of the Auror Department, has been placed in charge of the case. Mr. Granger-Weasley is, of course, something of an international celebrity, best known as the sidekick to the legendary Harry Potter. How touching it is that he took the unusual step of combining his name with that of his wife Hermione! Hermione Granger-Weasley is widely regarded as the most sought-after witch in the Wizarding World. As Mr. Granger-Weasley is a bit empty-headed compared to his wife, it is perplexing that Minister Shacklebolt chose him to Head this prestigious Department. The Granger-Weasleys have refused all requests for comment on this article. Still, Mr. Granger-Weasley is undeniably a strapping young man. Hermione, who gained worldwide recognition as an academic superstar, surprised many when she chose him over Mr. Potter, but ten years after the War, one can see the appeal of her decisions._

Draco crushed the paper in his fist. Poor Astoria! She had been a dear friend after the War. Draco was as baffled as anyone when she’d announced she was marrying Scamander, but this news shocked him more.

The article was utter rot, the kind of rubbish Draco had once loved to spread about Potter. Yet, like most people in the Wizarding World, he could not curb his fixation on him. Saint Potter shone somehow, like he had a halo around his head...Draco glanced at the photograph of Potter he kept with perfect asininity in his desk. For the umpteenth time, he traced his features, noting that Potter had his Indian father’s golden skin and midnight hair, as well as his Irish mother’s emerald eyes. Those eyes had burned and haunted him...Draco smiled bitterly. He had lost his chance with Potter, long ago on the Hogwarts Express.

Draco was startled out of his thoughts by a folded piece of paper on his desk. He hadn’t put it there. Draco unfurled the paper, and began to read.

_Dear Draco,_

_Something has given me a nasty jar. I think I know who was behind the attack on Astoria and her husband. Anyway, I’m off to do some sleuthing. Don’t look for me unless I’m gone for more than two weeks._

_Love,_

_Pansy_

Draco frowned. He set the note down on the table, and stared unseeingly into space for a long time.


	3. Ron

“Rolf Scamander was a highly respected scholar, but more importantly, he was deeply committed to a world free of bigotry, hatred, and oppression. The Society for the Promotion of a Unified Globe (SPUG) will do everything we can to fulfill his vision of a better world. May he rest in power!” Hermione Granger-Weasley ended with a flourish, her golden SPUG badge gleaming on her chest.

The Ministry burst into applause. Some people stood up. Hermione gazed earnestly at her audience, who watched her with mixed expressions of awe and desire. She had large, sparkling eyes, and skin as brown as oiled teak. Her thick, bushy hair had lengthened into glossy brown curls, styled down her back.

Ron sat in the front row, clapping very hard indeed. Hermione had become a full-time Minority Rights activist. After graduating from Hogwarts, she had expanded SPEW into SPUG, an advocacy group for house-elves, Muggle-borns, werewolves, and even Goblins. SPUG had ballooned in popularity in post-War Britain, as the magical world struggled to figure out the forces that brought Voldemort to power.

“Yay, Hermione! Give her a big hurrah.” Dobby and Winky cheered, as the other house-elves squealed their appreciation. Winky had finally stopped drinking after the War, thanks to Dobby’s devoted care. To Ron’s amazement, they'd become good friends, and Hermione placed 'em in charge of the group’s work for house-elf rights.

The function ended; the crowd began to disperse. Dobby and Winky returned to work with a bow to Hermione, and a smart salute in Ron’s direction. Ron turned to find Hermione standing in front of him.

Hermione stood on her tiptoes, greeting Ron with a kiss on the cheek. “I’m so glad you could come,” She murmured against his lips. “How have you been holding up? Any updates on the case?”

“’Fraid not. My team didn’t learn much at the site,” Ron said, huffing a laugh. “That foul Skeeter woman has been trailing us all day.”

Hermione’s eyes gleamed, and her lips curved into an icy smile. Ron knew that look. It was reserved for anyone Hermione thought might hurt him, and something warm gushed up in his chest.

“If she bugs you again, I’ll make her bleed. You know I’ve been wanting to for ages,” Hermione’s fingers curled into a tight fist.

Ron slid an arm around her waist, and they swung out of the room onto the winding path outside. “That won’t be necessary, sweetheart.” He said firmly. “We’ve got bigger problems to deal with. The Minister sees it as a straight-up murder, but I reckon there’s more to the story,”

“I’m sure there is. I’ve always trusted your instincts, Ron,” Hermione said, smiling softly up at him.

Ron coughed and looked away from his wife, his cheeks flushing a little. He still didn’t know what to do when she paid him a compliment. The sun glinted off her fringe of inky hair, tinting it with Gryffindor colors.

“By the way, I did the research you asked me for.” Hermione said. She fumbled with her briefcase and fished out a folder, which she handed to him. “I found this in the Ministry Archives on post-War England. Did you know Astoria was engaged to Draco Malfoy for two years? They broke up six months before she began dating Rolf.”

Ron’s jaw dropped. “That greasy bastard?! Blimey, anyone who hangs with Malfoy is dodgy as all fuck. Scamander must have been mad.”

“I wonder why she and Malfoy broke up in the first place,” Hermione mused. “They were both wealthy purebloods from Dark families during the War. Maybe he’ll have some answers to the mystery behind this murder.”

“I’ll wager he’s the one that did it,” Ron muttered.

“We’ll discuss the matter with Harry this weekend,” Hermione said. “I’m sure Kingsley will want us to involve him.”

They made their way to Grimmauld Place, where they lived together with Harry. Crookshanks purred and nuzzled their ankles when they arrived. The stars were frozen still; there was no moon in the sky that night. The sunset cast eerie shadows, like the light of a dying candle flame.

Ron and Hermione made love in their bed, her legs wrapped sweetly tight around his waist. His breath tickled her ear, and was soft as the wind that whistled outside. Hermione’s body was warm and familiar, and her kisses were like flakes of sugar on his tongue. They had come a long way since their wedding night, when they’d lost their virginity together. Ron’s large hands traced the contours of her honey-sweet body, and she shivered in delight. The long-married couple undulated together. Ron tucked Hermione close when they were done, wrapping his coat around her body. She cast him a grateful look, and curled into him.

“Needed that, Ron.” She whispered, her eyes sliding shut. “Thanks.”

Ron smiled warmly down at her. Even a decade after their wedding, he could hardly believe his good luck. How had this brilliant, sexy woman chosen him as her husband? Hermione was the reason he’d become an Auror, the reason he’d climbed up the ranks to become Head. Mum and Percy were very pleased, and George had been tickled pink...Ron sighed, nuzzling into her, breathing in the scent of vanilla that always seemed to cling to his wife.

“The bodies!” He said suddenly. “Even for a Dementor’s Kiss...this was really bad.”

A shudder came over Hermione. Her eyes were wide as she tugged him closer. “You are right, Ron,” She said in a small voice. “The signs point to an expert in very Dark magic.”


	4. Harry

_“Avada Kedavra!”_ Harry said darkly. “The Killing Curse.”

Dead silence followed his words. Harry paced back and forth, his black robes swirling behind him. Much like Snape and McGonagall before him, Harry had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. He had been the Defense Against the Dark Arts (DADA) Professor at Hogwarts for almost ten years now. His students were a batch of third-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs who’d been looking forward to this lesson all day.

“The past decade has seen significant progress on ways to deflect the Killing Curse. Who can tell me what they are?”

A small, scruffy-looking Hufflepuff raised a trembling hand. She wore a pair of old glasses, and always sat apart from the rest of the class. Her robes were crisp and clean but frayed, much like Ron’s had been when they were at Hogwarts. A throng of Ravenclaws smirked at her, giggling behind their hands. Harry quelled them with a look.

“Professor Potter, isn’t love the most powerful magic there is?” The girl offered. 

Harry looked at the roster. He saw that her name was Bhavana Patil, and Harry quickly recognized her as the daughter of his old classmates Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, who had gotten married a few months after Ron and Hermione. They were very happy, but Divination didn’t pay much, especially for werewolves like Lavender.

“As it happens, Miss Patil, you are quite right. Fifteen points to Hufflepuff.” Bhavana blushed, and the Ravenclaws looked like they’d been slapped.

“The Killing Curse can be dodged, blocked by physical objects, and struck by other Defensive spells _._ ” Harry explained. “I have done a lot of research on the Patronus as a possible counter-charm. Some people, like my friend Luna, think that on rare occasions, the Killing Curse can be healed with the saliva of a Jabberwock.” Harry didn’t elaborate much on _that_ theory. “However, there is no substitute for sacrifices born from love. Love has lasting effects, even when the people who loved you are long gone. Albus Dumbledore taught me that. I didn’t believe him, but over the years I found it’s true.”

Harry had given this lecture many times, but somehow, it never seemed to get old. There was admiration in every eye as he looked around the room.

The rest of the lesson was spent practicing _Expelliarmus._ Harry was always anxious to teach his students the spell which had helped him defeat Voldemort. He walked around the room, grading his students with the notes he took on their progress. Bhavana’s spell was so powerful that it knocked her Ravenclaw opponent off her feet. To Harry’s satisfaction, she was one of the Ravenclaws who had sniggered at her. Harry was vaguely reminded of his own duel with Malfoy in Second Year. An image of Malfoy’s delicate features, icy and immobile, flitted through his mind. What was Malfoy doing now? Harry firmly pushed the thought aside. Perhaps it didn’t matter. Malfoy was nowhere in Harry’s life now. Soon, even his slowest students were happily Disarming their classmates.

There was a rap on the door, which clicked open to reveal Ron and Hermione. Harry noted that Hermione was wearing makeup, and the sleek, shining robes she usually saved for SPUG press conferences. Ron was in his Auror outfit. A hush came over the class; the students gaped to see the famous Trio, all together in one room.

“Harry,” Ron said. “The Headmistress wants to see you.”

The password was _Treacle Tarts._ Minerva and Kingsley were waiting for them, and Kingsley warded the room shut when they arrived.

“The Death Eaters are back.” He said simply.

Harry nodded. There were a lot of neo-Death Eaters these days; they were a constant headache for the Aurors. Harry had burned out fighting them, and it was one of the reasons he’d left the Department.

“We have reason to believe that a neo-Death Eater cult was behind Rolf and Astoria’s fate.” Minerva said.

“We’ve found out Scamander had been tracking a cult with very weird beliefs, even for Death Eaters.” Ron said grimly. “Very weird beliefs.”

Harry frowned. “What are you saying?”

“Harry...” Hermione began. _“This cult uses the Dementors in their religious rituals.”_

Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. “What are you saying?” He asked again in a deadly quiet voice.

“Rolf and Astoria were Kissed on the Eve of May Day.” Hermione said, sounding as usual like she’d swallowed a textbook. “May Day is considered sacred in much of the Wizarding World. In Edition III of _Secrets of the Darkest Art,_ Owle Bullock states that Dark wizards used to make human sacrifices to the Dementors on this day in exchange for their protection.”

Harry was silenced. 

Ron cleared his throat. “I found this clip in Scamander’s desk. It seems like a lot of people wanted to rub him out.”

He handed Harry the pamphlet. The cover page had a moving photo of Rolf Scamander that had been marred with a giant red X.

_**Die, Rolf, Die!** _

_The animals are coming, and pureblood genocide is nigh, writes DELPHI of_ The Poison Pen _. The blood of the Wizarding World has been degrading for a long time. Witches are marrying half-bloods, Mudbloods, and blood traitors. Rolf Scamander, the filthy Squib Hufflepuff blood traitor grandson of the scoundrel Newt Scamander, has seduced the lovely Astoria Greengrass to marry her. This leech, this demonic bloodsucker believes a host of ridiculous things, but now he is an existential threat to all of pureblooded Britain. A good woman of the Sacred Twenty Eight families has sullied herself and dishonored her family by dallying with him. What is the world coming to? Chastity is the crown-jewel of a pureblood woman. Soon there’ll be marriages between wizards and house-elves! Yet Scamander is far more dangerous to our kind than House-elves and Mudblood scum, who are designed by the natural laws of magic to be our subordinates. It is vital for the survival of pureblood Britain to conserve our witches. Scamander is a marked man now, and he must pay. In the name of the late Dark Lord, someone finish the wastrel, and save our race from the likes of him!_

Harry let out a mirthless laugh. “Everyone was so surprised by Rolf Scamander’s marriage to Astoria Greengrass. The press either claimed Astoria seduced Rolf, or the other way around. And people thought Rolf was the conspiracy theorist.”

“I’ve heard of Delphi.” Hermione said excitedly. “She’s a really serious neo-Death Eater, and _The Poison Pen_ is a hate magazine. I’ve seen it circulating in Knockturn Alley. _The Poison Pen_ spews all kinds of horrible things about Muggle-borns, house-elves, and other marginalized magical creatures.”

“She’s a nasty bit of work, all right.” Ron said. “The Auror files are chock-full of dirt on her. Delphi’s been missing, though. We’ve launched a search for her, but no one can tell us where she is.”

“So Delphi’s a potential suspect.” Harry said slowly. “But what’s the name of the cult?”

He flipped the pamphlet over. The other side was blank until he tapped it several times with its wand. Words began to appear in watery black ink. They were written in Ancient Runes. Harry could not decipher them, but Hermione grabbed the paper and read aloud. 

_This woman is Head of the Heart of the Dark!_

_-R. Scamander_

  
  



	5. Hermione

How _did_ one solve the problem of prejudice in the world? Hermione’s SPUG projects, like much of her schoolwork, always started with a research question. This question in particular guided her throughout her time at Hogwarts, back when SPUG was still SPEW and Voldemort was at the height of his power. Ron had ribbed her a little, asking if she wanted to start a society called SPUG. It irked her at the time, but somehow the name took hold of her, and Hermione couldn’t think of anything else to call the group.

In the past few years, it seemed like all her hard work was being unraveled by the rise of neo-Death Eaters. The Death Eaters of today were no different from those who had followed Voldemort. They had the same hatred, not just for house-elves and Muggle-borns, but the Magical world itself. Only such hatred, Hermione thought, could motivate people to worship Dementors.

Today, the world’s neo-Death Eaters called themselves the Heart of the Dark. Given half the chance, Hermione believed they could repeat what went on a decade ago. 

Still, the cult was very secretive. SPUG had much to learn about their philosophy, their world view. What, exactly, did they think of Voldemort? Bellatrix Lestrange? Where did those iconic figures fit into their political beliefs? 

_You lying, filthy little Mudblood. Crucio!_

There were times, especially when she was alone, when Hermione still had nightmares of Bellatrix. The slur she had carved on her arm. That horrible, lilting laughter. Those beady black eyes, feverish with memories of Azkaban. Alight with love for her Lord, and lust for the slow, intimate agonies she was capable of inflicting on her prisoners. Only Harry and Ron knew the full extent of what Hermione had endured at her hands. It had been Ron who nursed her back to health after the War. Hermione didn’t know what she would do without him.

Something about this Delphi woman reminded her of Bellatrix. Hermione refused to entertain the thought that Bellatrix was still alive. She had seen her die years ago! And death was something even the Death Eaters couldn’t conquer. Delphi wasn’t Bellatrix in disguise. She just couldn’t be. It defied logic to think so, and Hermione was nothing if not logical. 

But who was she, then? What was her real name, if she even had one? 

The living room was dark. Harry was working late. Hermione fingered the keys on the piano. Ron was making dinner, and the warm smell emanating from the kitchen made her mouth water. 

Ron had considered working with George in the joke shop, but Hermione managed to talk him out of it. She had never really liked the way the twins had treated her husband. Ron’s skill at chess made him an excellent strategist, quick on his feet. He was an ideal fit for the Aurors. Evidently, Kingsley agreed. Hermione felt a rush of fierce pride at all her husband had accomplished.

Hermione was not a fool. Far from it, in fact. She knew many people in the Wizarding World believed she could do better than Ron. Those people could choke, as far as she was concerned. They didn’t know him like she did. 

“Dinner’s ready, sweetheart.” Ron called from the kitchen. 

Ron had prepared a delicious meal of mashed potatoes, fresh spinach, squash, and corn. Her stomach gave a low growl. Ron smiled softly and served her the food. But he scarcely ate anything himself. He seemed far away, lost in thought. 

“Stressful day at work?” She guessed. Hermione understood those.

“Malfoy has something to do with this.” Ron muttered. “I just know it!” 

His hand was clenched in a fist. Suddenly, he stood up and started pacing. Hermione noticed he was still in his Auror robes. 

“Let us go through the evidence.” Hermione said calmly. “What clues do we have? Malfoy is Bellatrix’s nephew. Malfoy was one of the original Death Eaters. Malfoy dated Astoria, and claimed to have reformed in the wake of the War.”

“Yes.” Ron said darkly, “That’s why the Minister wants him to join our investigation. He met with me about it today.”

Hermione choked on a mouthful of mashed potatoes. She coughed delicately, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “What?”

“Don’t ask me why!” Ron said, throwing up his hands. He still sounded incredulous. “I swear, sometimes the Minister’s as dodgy as Dumbledore. I can’t make out what goes on in his mind.”

Hermione was silent for a while. “Maybe it’s a win-win situation.” She said slowly. “If Malfoy is innocent, his rich knowledge of Alchemy and Dark magic could be useful. If he’s not, then maybe, however unwittingly, he’ll lead us to the cult.” 

Ron sighed. “I know, sweetheart. All that bunk about keeping the enemy closer. It’s just...I’d feel better if it wasn’t Malfoy. Shacklebolt says his involvement should be kept very confidential. Limited to Harry for now. And maybe Ginny.” He added as an afterthought. 

Hermione nodded. The tabloids often pilloried Ron, but the public couldn’t think worse of Malfoy at the moment. She smiled wryly. 

“Well, he _did_ lie to save us from Bellatrix.” She reminded him. “I’m going to trust Kingsley on this one. For now.” She added, in response to his raised eyebrows.

The flames in the fireplace crackled, and they lapsed into a companionable silence. Hermione cleaned her plate. Ron’s cooking was ambrosia, as usual. Unlike Hermione, he had learned to cook from his mother. She placed the dishes in the sink, where Ron had already Scourgified most of the plates. When she returned only moments later, she found Ron curled up by the fire. Hermione felt a sudden, warm rush of desire for him. Everything about him was so... _Ron_ that she could hardly stand it...She nestled against him, counting the freckles on his nose and vibrant shades of red in his hair. They matched the colors of the fire perfectly. 

Fire. Fire motivated them both at work, and in their passions. They were Gryffindors, after all. They had a special affinity with fire. Fire, like the burning gases Professor Sinistra said lit up the sun, and the Muggle textbooks corroborated that statement. There had always been fire in their relationship, especially when they fought, though of late, Hermione found she and Ron worked the tension off better with sex. She supposed that went with being married for a decade. 

“Did you know the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Hufflepuff?” Ron said suddenly. 

Hermione started. “No, Ron. You never told me that story, but it does explain a lot.” 

A look of soul-searing sadness flitted across his face, though it might have been the shadows from the flames. Hermione hoped it was.

“What do you mean?” He whispered. 

“Hufflepuffs are hardest to turn to the Dark, and look at you!” She exclaimed. “No one could be further from the Dark side than you.” 

“I left...” Ron said. 

“You came back!” She cut him off. “You came back and finished off that infernal Horcrux. You saved Harry’s life.”

_I was the one who overreacted to your departure_ , Hermione thought. _I in my jealous rage and desperate fear of losing you. Because you are the one I hold most dear. Merlin, Ron. I’m sorry._

She reached over, and placed his pale, freckled hand in her much darker one. Ron stared down at their intertwined hands, seemingly fascinated by the color difference.

“You’re the brightest witch of our age.” He said, with a watery smile. “Everyone knows it. You could have been Sorted into Ravenclaw. I thought you’d say Hufflepuffs are a load of duffers. I certainly believed that, for a long time.” 

Hermione stared at him in horror.

“If there’s anything I learned at the Battle of Hogwarts,” She said seriously, “It’s that all four Houses were needed to bring down Voldemort. Where would we be without Tonks, Snape, Neville, or Luna? Harry was almost Sorted into Slytherin. What does it matter in the end?” 

Ron shrugged. Hermione felt a surge of protectiveness for him, the kind she experienced when Harry reminded her that no one other than she had ever wanted Crookshanks. Ron was hers, and she was keeping him. Hermione wouldn’t let anyone, not even herself, hurt him ever again.

“Hufflepuffs are said to be loyal, fair, and hardworking. You should _never_ be ashamed of having those character traits. You stuck by Harry when _no one else_ believed him about Voldemort. You could have used your pureblood status to escape persecution, but your sense of fairness and justice kept you at our side. You work hard to take care of me, and Harry, and I’m so sorry if we never showed you how much we appreciate it!”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and Ron’s face had gone as red as his hair.

“You’re right, sweetheart...The Hat gave me a choice between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. I guess I didn’t want to be overshadowed at school the way I was at home.”

Hermione pressed a kiss to his fingertips. “And you aren’t, Ron. Not with me. You’re the man I love, and I chose you above all others.”

  
  



	6. Harry

Harry stepped into the Malfoy Manor. His black boots clacked on the ground. The sound echoed around the empty hall. He hardly recognized it as the lush, opulent Manor that had once been Voldemort’s headquarters. Harry coughed. There was a clear inch of dust on the floor. Cobwebs threaded the ceilings. Lucius and Narcissa had both died, less than a year ago. Harry supposed that their time dabbling in the Dark arts had shortened their lifespans. He sent their son a sympathy card that was returned unopened. It was almost midnight. The wind groaned like a ghost in pain. A shattered mirror sparkled in the room, and a candle flickered on the table. Somewhere, a door creaked open and shut. Black curtains flapped in the windows, beating like the wings of a raven.

Kreacher was waiting for him. His wizened face wore a toothy smile. Harry had sent him to work for Malfoy when his parents had died. Malfoy had gnashed his teeth, spitting fire to be the recipient of the Savior’s charity, but Kreacher was overjoyed at the chance to take care of the Black heir. 

“Kreacher is honored to receive the Potter boy. The young Master will be down soon.” The House-elf’s voice had softened, becoming huskier in the latter years of his life. Harry smiled broadly at him. Kreacher bowed and stepped into the darkness, ushering him in. 

A shadow loomed over the winding staircase, and Harry glanced up. Malfoy stood at the top of the stairs, dressed in posh black robes that were embroidered in exquisite silver. He wore a necklace of white diamonds. His decadence looked strangely out of place in the dilapidated Manor. Malfoy’s face was carefully neutral as he slowly stepped down the staircase. Harry kept his eyes trained on him, wondering for the umpteenth time what this man was hiding. His silver blonde hair and cold grey eyes made him look almost translucent in the darkness. Harry was vaguely reminded of a Dark vampire he’d helped subdue, back when he was still an Auror. 

Malfoy reached the bottom of the stairs. For an awkward moment, he just lingered in front of Harry. Kreacher glanced sorrowfully between them. He did not like the animosity between his masters, but there was nothing Harry could do about it. He had hated Malfoy for too long; these feelings were like red wine, and he didn’t know how to stop. These feelings were a part of him now. 

The living room was absolutely empty. Malfoy snapped his fingers. Kreacher reappeared, carrying a silver chair in both hands. He set the chair down, and Malfoy reclined upon it, a slight smirk on his lips. He didn’t offer Harry a seat. Kreacher looked at Harry apologetically before leaving them alone. Harry’s bright eyes darted around the room. A wooden swing was folded up and hooked to the ceiling. Harry brought it crashing down with a lazy flick of his wand. The seat of the swing was a flat, square bench that hung from the ceiling by four shining silver chains. It was almost like the swing of a playground. Harry stepped around it, seating himself like a king in his castle. He crossed one leg over the other so that his high-heeled boot hovered in Malfoy’s face. Malfoy stared up at him unblinkingly. Harry leaned back, languorous, rubbing his knee with one hand. 

“Harry James Potter.” Malfoy sneered. “The Chosen One, the Boy who Scored. Savior of the Wizarding World. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Come off it.” Harry said curtly. “I’m only here because Minister Shacklebolt sent me to ask for your help. I know you spend most of your time holed up in here, but surely even you’ve heard what happened to the Scamanders.”

“Yes, I am in the habit of reading the news, Potter.” Malfoy said in a bored voice. “Get to the point!”

“Well, the Aurors believe that some unusually Dark magic was involved in this Dementor attack, so they want an Alchemist on board. Ron, Hermione, and I would have picked anyone else, but the Minister insisted you’re the only man for the job. He thinks you’ve changed. We do not.”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. “Well, my father always did say Shacklebolt was the worst diplomat in the Ministry.” He smirked at the glare Harry sent in his direction. “Why would he send you, of all people? Surely he knows how we _feel_ about each other!”

Harry had been wondering that himself, but he kept his mouth shut. 

“He’s right, though.” Malfoy said. “I will help you on this case, Potter.” 

“What?!”

“Don’t look so confused. Astoria was in Slytherin, and one of my dearest friends. She and I were...sweethearts of a sort, but it never lead anywhere.”

Harry gave him a hard look. “Don’t lie. You were engaged to her for two years. Give me one good reason to believe you didn’t do the deed yourself.” 

Malfoy looked at him like he couldn’t believe how stupid a question that was. “What purpose would that serve?” His voice was sleek, but Harry could detect a faint tremor to it. “Surely that would undermine my decade-long effort to clear my family name. I did not love Astoria, nor did she me, and Slytherins don’t commit _crimes passionels._ We leave that to the Gryffindors. Bringing the culprits to justice, on the other hand, will afford me ample opportunity to redeem myself in the eyes of the press.”

Disgust coiled low in Harry’s stomach. Malfoy didn’t care that a cult had fed his ex-girlfriend to the Dementors. He was simply acting in his own self-interest, as usual.

“However,” Malfoy continued. “There’s another reason I want to do this with you, Potter.” There was something different about his tone this time, and his eyes seemed to burn silver in the candlelight.

“Well? Out with it.” Harry ordered. 

Malfoy stepped out of the room, returning with a piece of yellowed paper in his hands. It was the note from Pansy. Harry stared at it, his astonishment growing with every word. 

“I haven’t seen her in a month.” Malfoy confessed. “I grow more worried with every day...I can’t bear to lose her, Potter, not after Astoria. Surely you understand that.”

Harry nodded. He examined the note with his wand, but found nothing strange about it. Harry despised Pansy, of course. She had been the one Slytherin to betray him to Voldemort. Still, he could empathize with the friendship Malfoy felt for her, just as he cared for Hermione. Malfoy was Harry, through a dark, broken mirror.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this chapter were borrowed from the events of a Tamil movie called Padayappa (1999), which is fitting because this Harry is of South Asian descent!  
> 


	7. Luna

“You are NOT going to leave us behind, Ron.” Ginny’s bright brown eyes were blazing red. “Not this time!”

“I shouldn’t have told you at all. It’s too bloody dangerous for you!” Ron shouted back. “I can’t breach protocol by dragging civilians along. You’ll only slow us up, and Mum’ll kill me if anything happens to you!”

Ginny tossed her long, crackling red hair back, and placed her hands on her hips. She looked wild and beautiful when she was angry, Luna thought, like a goddess of fire. Or bright sunlight. Luna couldn’t decide on which. All she knew was that Ginny had been her best friend for almost ten years now.

It was nice to have a best friend, especially one from the human world. Very nice. Luna had never thought she’d have one when she was back at Hogwarts. Her mother would have been so proud.

And her father. Her father…

Not that Luna was afraid of being alone. It was easier to listen for the secrets of the Forbidden Forest, the rare and precious creatures no one else cared about, the creatures who hid themselves away because the Wizarding World didn’t have room for them. The many magical places beyond the Veil. Most people loved the sound of their own voice. People prattled on to one other about themselves, but they just didn’t know how to listen. In fact, Luna generally preferred the company of animals to humans. She had always been that way, despite the best efforts of many Healers, and she had made peace with that part of herself long ago.

Ginny was still shouting, and Luna could feel the heat radiating off her person. Loud noises usually made her stop and cover her ears, but surprisingly not from Ginny. Ginny’s voice was sweet, like the cry of a Snorkack, and she could be as loud as she liked.

“If _Draco_ sodding _Malfoy’s_ coming along, we are too. And YOU, Harry James Potter!!!” 

Ginny whirled around to face Harry, who took a step back. 

“I may be your ex, but I thought I was still your friend!!! I thought our breakup had brought us closer. I thought you’d finally gotten over your Savior Complex. The last time you did something like this, you literally DIED, even with all of Dumbledore’s help! Luna and I won’t let that happen again. We’re coming with you, and that’s that.”

Luna smiled affectionately at the two wizards before them. They were both so confused. From their wide eyes and slack expressions, she could sense the Wrackspurts buzzing around in their heads. Luna had been silent long enough, and Ginny needed back-up.

“You needn’t worry about us.” She said in her soft, rich, dreamy voice. Luna ran her fingers through ribbons of silver-blonde hair. 

“You can trust us. You wouldn’t have told us if you didn’t think we were ready. Ginny and I are heroes of the War, recipients of the Order of Merlin, Second Class...and from what I hear, it’s much too dangerous for _you_ to tackle this quest alone.”

“We’re witches, not dolls made of bloody porcelain!” Ginny exclaimed. “Luna is a respected Magizoologist, and I’m a Quidditch star, captain of the Holyhead Harpies.” Her voice trembled. “You wouldn’t let me fight in the War. I may have been young, _but I was literally possessed by Voldemort for an entire year._ That kind of thing scars you for life. Harry, I know you understand. Please don’t leave us behind.”

Her tone made Harry look up, and plucked at the strings of Luna’s heart. It was plain to her that Ginny was no longer the girl who’d dated Harry in their teens. She had become a mature woman.

“Rolf was a dear friend and colleague of mine.” Luna said matter-of-factly. “He was most helpful in my search for the Bandersnatch, the Jubjub Bird, and the Jabberwock. I’d be glad to help you find the people who did this to him. If anything, it’s my duty.”

There was a brief pause, as there always was when Luna spoke her mind, when she was completely herself in front of others. Luna was used this response by now. But that didn’t make it hurt any less when it came from her closest friends. Harry took a deep breath. 

“Luna, you do realize that catching Death Eaters is a bit different from chasing a…a Jabberwock, right?”

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Harry James Potter!” Luna said severely, making Ginny giggle in the background. “I know perfectly well what’s at stake. Rolf told me he was doing research on a Death Eater cult called the Heart of the Dark, and I’m quite sure they’re the people you’re after. He even entrusted me with a complete manuscript of the book he was writing on them. I’ll show it to you, but only on the condition that you let both of us be a part of your quest.”

Harry and Ron stared at her, open-mouthed. Luna smiled sleekly to herself. She finally had them. It was in these moments that she was thankful she’d almost been Sorted into Slytherin. 

Luna had many secrets, and she was looking forward to sharing them with her friends. Eventually. 

“A burden shared is a burden halved, remember?” Luna said soothingly. “We’ve had enough of you leaving us behind.”

Ginny curled up like a Kneazle on the couch. She looked as though she might burst with pride, and the sight gave Luna a warm feeling inside.

  
  



	8. Ginny

“The Heart of the Dark is one of the world’s strangest Death Eater cults.” Hermione read aloud. “A mysterious witch named Delphi is said to be their leader.”

The investigative team had gathered around the book at Grimmauld Place. The fire crackled merrily. Rolf had written the book by hand. Ginny found the writing almost illegible, scrawly and scribbled, but it seemed that Hermione didn’t.

_Delphi is short for Delphini Diggory, but rest assured, this woman is no relation to Amos Diggory, father of the martyr Cedric. I spoke to Mr. Diggory about her, and he had never heard the name. In fact, none of the Diggorys could locate her on their family tree. Delphini Diggory is said to be a pseudonym, but no one knows who she is, or even what she really looks like. I have never managed to get so much as a sketch of her. Rumor has it that members of the cult wear animal masks during their ceremonies, and that even they do not know her true identity._

Hermione held up the book. Three wizards, whom Ginny supposed were members of the cult, wore masks in the shapes of a serpent, eagle, and lion’s heads. The masks were well-painted and startlingly realistic, almost creepily so. A cold shiver went up her spine.

_Much like Scientology, the Peoples Temple, and Heaven’s Gate in the Muggle world, the cult’s beliefs are kept firmly under wraps. But I have heard whispers in Knockturn Alley, whispers, whispers from people who will not be named, whispers that deeply trouble me. Delphi sees the Cosmos as a cycle with three fault lines: the boundaries between Humans and Nature, Wizards and Witches, and Life and Death. This cult worships Dementors as the gatekeepers of Death and Life. The Kiss is seen as a great honor among them: a chance, however slim, of grasping what lies beyond the states of Life and Death._

Rolf had drawn a map of the Great Cosmic Wheel. It was a discus shaped like a sun, with a black triangle inside. Each side of the triangle was marked as one of the three boundaries. 

_Delphi is a prophetess of sorts. She claims to be the spiritual daughter of Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange. However, Delphi has declared herself a staunch devotee of Harry Potter. He is the God of all Gods to her, the Lord of the Dementors, and she has predicted he will become the next great Dark Lord._

Hermione sighed. She turned to Harry with a rueful smile. “I knew you’d be dragged into this somehow, my old friend.” 

Ron clapped him on the back. “Don’t let her get you down, mate. That Delphi’s a twisted old bat.”

“She’s very different from Voldemort.” Ginny mused aloud. “He wouldn’t have had the imagination for any of this, and I think I’d know. He was inside my head for almost a year.”

“She likes causing pain as much as Bellatrix did, that is for certain.” Hermione said in a low voice.

She pointed to a series of pictures in the book. All of them featured the cult’s grotesque experiments on House-elves. Ginny felt slightly sick. Hermione’s eyes glistened with tears, and Ron placed a firm hand on her shoulder. 

“They will pay for this. Every one of them.” He growled.

Harry’s emerald eyes were blazing as they traced the photographs. Slowly, he turned to face Luna. “You’ve brought us some very valuable information tonight. Thank you.”

Luna smiled wryly. “I knew it would be useful.” She whispered. 

“Yes, Harry, and you wouldn’t have found any of it without us.” Ginny said pointedly. 

There was a sudden rap on the door. Everyone looked up to find Malfoy standing before them. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Malfoy stepped inside, shutting the door quietly behind him. His hair was longer than she remembered it. Ginny could not help noticing the haughty resemblance to his father, and his aunt Bellatrix. Malfoy glanced around to give her the most unfeeling, inscrutable look she’d ever seen. For a moment, Ginny had a fleeting sense he had no face. 

The corner of Malfoy’s mouth lifted slightly at the sight of Luna, and Ginny felt a growing sense of unease.

“Good evening, Luna.” Malfoy muttered under his breath. 

He leaned over, and kissed her softly on the cheek. 

Hermione frowned. Ron glowered. Ginny and Harry looked at each other with raised eyebrows, but Luna flashed him a smile. 

“We’re friends.” She said cheerfully.

Ginny sputtered. “Friends? I knew you two worked together but...but he’s a Dark wizard! He tortured you for months in his basement!” 

“He took care of me.” Luna said firmly, and Ginny stared at her. “War binds you to people you’d never expect.”

Ginny felt the earth shift a little beneath her feet. 

“Not everyone is as brave as you, Ginny.” Luna said quietly. Her silvery eyes looked like they were searching for something in her face. “But there are many ways to be a hero.” 

Malfoy’s neck flushed pink at the word “hero” and he pulled his black collar up to cover himself. Harry’s mouth hung open, and Ginny couldn’t blame him. The Malfoy she knew was someone she needed to protect Luna from.

Like all the rest of the bullies at Hogwarts. 

“In the past few years, we’ve done a fair bit of research together.” Luna said. “Alchemy overlaps a lot with Magizoology. You’d be surprised at how much.”

Malfoy finally met Ginny’s eyes, and spread his hands out. There was a twisted smile on his face. Ginny couldn’t tell whether it was aimed at them, or himself. 

“I am ready to tell you all I know of the Heart of the Dark.” He drawled. 

Everyone looked up at that.

“The Heart of the Dark is a religious movement that began five years ago.” Malfoy explained. “It is popular with many old pureblood families, especially former Death Eaters, who seek meaning in life and feel...threatened by social progress. Cults tend to attract people at low points in their lives, you know.” His voice and hands shook a little. “I am sorry to say that many of my former friends, including Gregory Goyle, are rumored to be part of the group. I myself received an invitation to join it by owl post, but chucked the letter in the fire.”

Malfoy’s eyes darted around the room. The room had gone very quiet, and every eye was fixed on him. Ginny stood rooted to the spot. The words had turned her blood to ice. 

“It is unknown who the leader is.” Malfoy continued. “The person who writes under the name Delphini Diggory could be anyone. She could be a man; she could be of any gender, really, or several people working together. But one thing is certain.” He said grimly. 

The others waited. 

“The cult wishes to take over the Wizarding World, using Dementors as their weapon. Their goal is a world where everyone other than them has forgotten what happiness feels like.” Malfoy reached around, and gripped his forearm as if it hurt him. “Much like the original Death Eaters, the cult sees genocide as a sacred calling. The annihilation of Muggle-borns, house-elves, and other ‘unclean’ creatures is seen as a ritual sacrifice, one that is supposed to restore the true balance of Nature. I have heard rumors in pureblood circles that she sacrifices victims to the Dementors on two days a year: May Day and Hallowe'en. I myself suspect that if Delphi succeeds in her aims, she’ll feed anyone she doesn’t like to the Dementors. Sacrifice is an articulation of power over weakness for her.”

The silence stretched horribly in the room. 

“I have been researching the cult, just as Scamander did, but there is much I do not understand.” Malfoy confessed. “Where is the Temple located? Sometime after Astoria received the Kiss, Pansy went missing. I am almost certain she knew something dangerous.”

“Why didn’t you come straight to the Aurors with this stuff?” Ron said angrily.

Malfoy sneered. “How could I guarantee you’d believe me, Weasley? I expect there’s a cell in Azkaban with my name on it.”

Ron gaped, speechless with rage, and Malfoy smirked. “I rest my case.” He said lightly.

“It’s Granger-Weasley, by the way.” Hermione interjected. “You’d do well to remember that.”

Malfoy grit his teeth. “Of course,” He said, inclining his head. “Mr. Granger-Weasley.” 

Malfoy and Ron continued to circle each other that night. Ginny kept an eye on them. She was determined to back her brother up in a fight if needed. Later, when Malfoy was about to leave, Ginny and Ron cornered him by the stairs. Ron’s eyes narrowed. 

“I’m a bloody Auror, I’d give my life to bring down the Dark.” He snarled. “You can stick a few daggers in my back, and I’ll bear it. But if you do anything to hurt Harry, remember that I’d take fifty years in Azkaban for him. Fifty years.”

Ginny watched the pureblood aristocrat digest that information, and her chin lifted. She gave Malfoy a look she hoped conveyed her supreme disdain.

“Harry and I aren’t together anymore, but I see the way you look at him.” She said fiercely. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten you were the one who sent him that sappy Singing Valentine back at Hogwarts.”

Malfoy reared back like he’d been slapped. 

“I covered for you then,” Ginny hissed. “But mark my words, I’ll tell Harry _everything_ if you even _think_ of betraying us.”

Malfoy’s face had bleached even whiter than usual, if that were possible. Suddenly, he smiled; it was the bitter smile of a wizard who had tasted the ash of unrequited love. 

“You have my word it won’t come to that.” He said harshly, and gave them a deep bow.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be up in a couple days. I just got done with finals.


	9. Harry

Harry dreamt that he trod the paths of a black-and-silver city. The labyrinth coiled like the black tail of a Hydra. No matter how far he ventured, Harry always seemed to end up in the same place. A sprinkle of stars sparkled, spiralling in the sky, swirling in the shape of a spider web. Harry was trapped. A somber feeling washed over him, a well of deep despair that was all too familiar. 

Somewhere in his head, a woman screamed. The city was ruled by Dementors.

_“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!”_

_“Stand aside, you silly girl...stand aside, now.”_

_“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead –”_

_“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”_

Harry had been in this territory many times, during the War and after. Both as an Auror and a Professor. Silvery Prongs leapt forward, skipping around the city. But the Dementors didn’t act like they usually did. They breathed, and the smell of rotting souls they’d sucked over the years hit him in the face. It was like night soil and stale, bloody vomit. It filled his nostrils, a dark, poisonous gas.

Harry staggered forward. 

_Expecto Patronum...Expecto Patronum…_

In the land of Dreams, even the most basic rules of magic worked differently. Luna had told him that. His Patronus wouldn’t work as well as in the real world.

Bugger all. 

The city shifted. He stood in front of a dark, imposing palace with glittering lights. An icy wind stung his cheeks. The Dementors had gathered before him, hovering just above the ground. They were still and solemn. Black robes billowed in their wake. Bony, grey-green hands unfurled into claws from under the torn sleeves. Their nails were long and red as blood. They reached for him, and the screams of Harry’s mother grew louder. 

The Dementors watched him silently. Frozen like a gallery of statues. Suddenly, all the Dementors bowed down before him.

_Harry James Potter...Master of Death. Lord of the Dementors!_

A wave of revulsion hit him. 

_We are your humble servants, dear Lord, and salute you on this night._

He had to get out of here. Harry turned and ran.

_“Not Harry! Please…have mercy…have mercy…Not Harry! Not Harry! Please–I’ll do anything!”_

A bolt of electric-green lightning. The flashback of Voldemort’s _Avada Kedavra_ blinded him. Harry tripped over a twisted stone in his path. His cheekbone smashed against the pavement, and the lightning itself was black.

_Do not try to escape, dear Lord. Stay with us and be our God...Among mortal men._

He was burning in a pit of fire, drowning in a sea of ice. He hung by the hands, stark-naked, to a black stone wall. His feline eyes, and golden-brown body gleamed in the light of the torch. Harry looked around. He was in an underground Temple with smooth black pillars. Stone serpents wound around the pillars. They swallowed one another’s tails. Their eyes were studded with emeralds and rubies. They looked so alive, like the serpents in the Chamber of Secrets. 

Harry jumped. His shackles clinked in the silence. Malfoy was watching him intently from the other side of the room. Pale skin and sleek blonde hair shimmered in the darkness. Black robes clung to his body like a mist. Harry glared at him.

A sly, knowing smile played across Malfoy’s lips. He stepped closer. There was a very strange look in those silver eyes. It was difficult to describe, and Harry couldn’t place it. In many ways, the pureblood was still an enigma to him. 

“I have you now.” Malfoy said. That silver voice glinted with triumph. “I have you now, and unlike myself in the real world, I’m going to give you what you want.”

The back of his hand grazed his cheek with a caress. Harry jerked away, and Malfoy’s face lit up. His hand gripped Harry’s hair, forcing him to look in his eyes. A heartbeat passed. 

“You’re so pretty when you squirm. You always were.” He whispered. “My real self is in for a treat. I’m just a part of your mind, but how long can you hide from your own desires?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Harry said sullenly. But he did, he did.

Malfoy’s face was half-hidden in the shadows. His smile was twisted but oddly tender. “Liar.” He said fondly. “I’m going to hurt you, Potter, until you come from my touch, and can no longer bear to be separated from me.”

“What is this?” Harry’s eyes widened. He swallowed hard. All his work with the Dark Arts could not prepare him for this. 

Green and silver eyes bore into each other, and Malfoy fell on him. The kiss burned like the venom of a basilisk. Skilled, spidery fingers pinched at Harry’s nipples. He gasped, thrashing about. The touch was cold, but it warmed him to his toes. A deep yearning sparked in his chest, both to escape and arch into it.

Bruising kisses curled across Harry’s collarbone, leaving bright red marks; they traveled softly down his toned stomach. Harry’s legs found themselves of their own accord around Malfoy’s waist. Sly hands dipped between the golden globes of his buttocks, teasing the tender, rosy pink place there. Harry clenched and shuddered. The sensations were too much; they hit all the right places in his body. Rage and shame burst in the pit of his stomach, and Malfoy gave a wicked grin. His teeth were like hard diamonds in the darkness.

Those eyes never left his as he took Harry’s hard cock in his mouth. That mouth suckled it like a golden fruit. Harry’s body burned white-hot as he came with a silent scream... 

He was falling backward. A stream of stars buzzed around him. The cool wind rushed in his ears, and he was floating like a golden lily, borne by the breeze. A woman’s voice cooed in his ear.

“Harry Potter...Master of Death!”

Her languid tones were awfully familiar, but once again, Harry couldn’t recognize them. That voice was the sweetest of poisons. Suddenly, Harry realized that this entire dream was a message sent from her. She had planted it in his mind, just as Voldemort once fed him a false vision of Sirius. Harry’s heart ached. His stomach lurched. He could almost make out the shape of a woman in the shadows. 

“Come on out!” Harry shouted, and the sound echoed in the abyss.“Who are you? Show yourself to me!”

“They call me Delphi. Delphini Diggory, but you have known me by another name.” She giggled. A horrible, gurgling little giggle. “Soon, you will remember.”

“It’s so painful to feel you so near!” She crooned. Her silhouette receded, dissolving into shadows and vapor. 

The darkness spun, and she was gone. Harry was falling down a black spiral, down, down...He woke up with a start. The bright sunlight made him blink. His loins were embarrassingly sticky.

“Who was it?” Hermione said urgently. She, Ron, and Malfoy were standing around the bed. “Voldemort? Bellatrix? Snape? Dumbledore? Quickly!”

On the floor, even Crookshanks looked concerned. His beady, unblinking yellow eyes were fixed on Harry. A fluffy orange tail thumped on the ground.

Harry shrugged. The shadows of the past often chased him in his dreams. They wouldn’t rest, or leave him be. It was one of the reasons Ron and Hermione had come to live with him in Grimmauld Place.

“None of the above.” He said tonelessly. “It was Delphi. She knows we’re on her trail.”

He proceeded to tell them everything, except the part with Malfoy.

“Nightmares...they can be very powerful Dark magic.” Malfoy said slowly. “My parents had nightmares for months before they died.”

“Those the Dark destroy, they first drive mad, as the old saying goes.” Luna said. She and Ginny had entered the room without a sound. “My mother used to say dreams and reality exist in parallel universes. The lines between them blur on May Day and Hallowe’en.” 

“Hallowe'en is a week away!” Hermione said. Her eyes were hard and bright, and the line of her mouth was very thin.

Ginny shuddered. “Delphi says you’ve met her before. What does that mean?”

Crookshanks let out a loud, mournful meow, and Ron snorted. “It means, dear sister, that we can narrow down our suspect list to the people we’ve known and met.” 

He clapped Harry on the back. “Rest up, mate. Hot tea will be ready soon.” 

“I’ll help you!” Hermione said briskly.

She, Ron, Luna, and Ginny left the room, leaving Harry alone with Malfoy. An awkward silence ensued. 

“Potter,” Malfoy said suddenly. “You didn’t leave anything out, did you?” 

“Of course not.” Harry said quickly. “Why would I?” 

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. On another man, his expression might have looked like concern, but Harry knew better. Malfoy didn't care about him. He never had. 

Harry did not look away from that shrewd silver gaze, but he could feel a burning blush travel up his neck. The inside of his pants were still sticky. Dream-Malfoy had been right...Harry could deny it all he liked, but Delphi wouldn’t have sent him that blasted dream if there wasn’t already something to work with in his mind.

“For practitioners of Dark magic, dreams tend to have very specific meanings.” Malfoy said carefully. “They can be difficult to interpret if you don’t have all the information.” 

“Somehow, I feel you’re hiding something from us.” Malfoy continued. 

Damn Malfoy for being so smart, so glamorous, so...He was as much of a nuisance as he’d been at Hogwarts. 

“I’ve told you all that’s relevant.” Harry snapped. “Shove off, Malfoy.”

Malfoy sneered. "Suit yourself, Potter." He said in a distant sort of voice, then swung out of the room. 

Days passed, and Harry’s classes were going well. He’d moved from _Expelliarmus_ to hexes, jinxes, wordless spells, kappas, grindylows, and Inferi. Bhavana had quickly advanced to the top of the class. She was a credit to Hufflepuff House, Harry thought with a fierce flare of admiration. Just as Cedric had been. Lavender and Parvati, as heroes of the War, would be very proud of her. In truth, Harry was pleased to see all his students soak up the material. Soon, it was October 27th. Hallowe’en was drawing near. 

“Dobby has happy news for Harry Potter!” Dobby said shrilly. He pulled on the end of Harry’s robes, eyes glistening with joy at the sight of his old friend. 

“Tell me what’s going on.” Harry said kindly.

They were in SPUG’s headquarters. Hermione had suggested consulting her sources on neo-Death Eater hate groups. She, Ron, Malfoy, and Harry rummaged through the archives. So far, they’d found some newspaper clips of Delphi spreading hate against werewolves and Goblins. Harry had stumbled on a _Poison Pen_ article on an unnamed Death Eater’s release from Azkaban.

“Dobby and Winky are getting married!” Dobby could hardly speak. His bat ears quivered, and his eyes welled up with tears. Cheers greeted this announcement from all around the office, and just like that, the elves stood up and danced a jig.

“That’s amazing, Dobby! It really is.” Hermione squealed. 

“Super.” Ron shouted. “Smashing!”

Harry grinned at the house-elves. “So, are we invited to the wedding?”

“Harry Potter and his friends are the very first guests we invited for the occasion!” Winky squeaked. “We would be honored to have them there.”

“Of course we’ll come!” Hermione said at once. “That’s not even a question.” Harry and Ron nodded in fervent agreement. 

“So, Winky, what brought about this development?” Ron asked. 

Hermione nudged him sharply, but Winky gave a tinkling laugh. She was looking very pretty in her little tweed skirt, Harry noticed. Being sober had done wonders for her.

“Winky and Dobby did not fall in love at first sight.” She said with a shy smile. “In fact, Dobby first found Winky quite annoying. But Winky and Dobby fought He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the Battle of Hogwarts together, and Dobby saved Winky from drinking to death over her poor Mr. Crouch.”

“Winky taught Dobby that our people’s traditional work in Wizarding homes is important, and has value.” Dobby said.

“Of course it does!” Hermione cried indignantly. “The entire Wizarding World runs on it!”

Winky nodded. “Dobby taught Winky that we have the right to wages and better working conditions, whatever jobs we choose. Winky then realized she and Dobby were both equally for the welfare of our people.”

So even Dobby had managed to find someone, Harry thought, and that too an elf with whom he’d clashed for a very long time. Harry was truly glad for his friend, but something about the news made him feel lonely. He and Ginny had broken up after realizing they were both bisexual, and far more attracted to the same gender than each other. Harry had, of course, tried to date again, but most guys in the Wizarding World couldn’t see past his fame...A sudden silence made him look up.

“Greetings, young Master.” Dobby said coolly.

“Good afternoon, Dobby.” Malfoy said, his voice stilted but smooth. “Congratulations on your engagement. Kreacher brought me tidings of the wonderful news, and I wish you both a happy married life.”

Malfoy’s expression was unreadable, and Dobby watched him for a long time. To Harry’s amazement, his wizened face relaxed into a soft smile. “It is good to see the Malfoy boy again. He has grown up a lot since the last time Dobby saw him.”

Ron and Hermione looked simply dumbfounded. A tiny smile flickered across Malfoy’s face, like a sliver of sunlight peeking through a dark cloud. The difference it made was startling, and Harry caught his breath.

  
  



	10. Ginny

Hermione placed a bouquet of velvety red roses on Fred’s grave. She usually did this task with Luna and Ginny, as Ron still choked up. (George rarely, if ever, visited the Hogwarts cemetery. Ginny couldn’t blame him for that.)

The three witches stood silent for a moment. Blue fairies buzzed around them in the starlight, sounding like a school of fireflies. Ginny had come across the bugs on a sports trip to America.

Hermione was frowning at her. “Why did you decide to join us on this quest?” She asked bluntly. “Isn’t Quidditch season coming up?”

Ginny stared at her in astonishment. “How is that even a question?” She cried, throwing up her hands. “Quidditch is my life, but many things are more important than my life. Many things, like friendship and love and family…I lost one brother already! I can’t lose anyone else...Surely, Hermione, you of all people would understand that.”

“This quest is more important even than finding a Snorkack, and you’d be quite lost without us.” Luna said solemnly. She stared at Fred’s gravestone and fiddled with her cork necklace. “If I were you, I’d stop trying to protect us, and just accept that you’re stuck with us for the time being.”

The fairies glowed around them like the light of a blue moon. Some flew over and landed on Luna’s head. Ginny combed her fingers through Luna’s silver-blonde hair. One of the fairies perched on her finger.

“They’re beautiful.” She muttered.

“They’re Flutterbies, a rare subspecies of British fairies.” Luna said. “They only come for certain people.” A swarm of Flutterbies clung to her hair, head, shoulders, and arms. Luna smiled serenely, looking entirely at home. The Spectrespecs on her forehead shimmered with the colors of the rainbow, and she looked like a Christmas tree in the starlight.

The Flutterbies skirted around Hermione, as though she’d been sprayed with some kind of fairy-repellent. “They don’t seem to like me nearly as much as you two.” She remarked.

Luna laughed lightly. “Some magical creatures respond better when you believe in them.”

Hermione looked skeptical, but didn’t press the matter. “Malfoy apologized to me and Ron today.” She said. “You should have seen Ron’s face. He looked like he’d been clubbed over the head.”

Luna beamed, while Ginny’s eyes went wide. “You’re having me on. I never thought I’d see the day!”

Hermione shrugged. “Neither did I, but I took him aside after our talk with Dobby and Winky, and told him how far I thought he’d come. He was quite surprised. He launched into a long apology for all the times he’d called me a Mudblood and hurt us at Hogwarts. He said he knew that his family has much to atone for. Malfoy...Draco...Ron and I are going to give him a chance.”

“That’s very handsome of you.” Luna said. “Like I said, some creatures just respond better when you have a little faith in them. The Bandersnatch shies away from the smell of human fear. The Jubjub bird is only seen by those who know where to look.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know what the research established says on that.” She said in her usual lecturing voice. “But there’s ample evidence for one thing...Malfoy’s potty over Harry, isn’t he?”

“That he is.” Luna said in her slow, dreamy voice; her silvery eyes were trained on Ginny. “Are you jealous?”

Ginny looked away, her freckled face flushed the rosy shade of her hair. “At one time, I might have been.” She said grudgingly. “But I’ve fancied someone else for a long time now.”

“You were in love with Harry forever.” Luna observed.

Ginny could only nod, because it was true. The Flutterbies hummed between them, sounding like the strings of a silver harp. Ginny plucked out the ones that had nestled in her fire-gold hair, and gently blew them in Luna’s direction.

The Flutterbies tinkled a laugh, and lifted Luna clean into the air. They hovered up there for a bit. Ginny let out a yell and bounded after them.

“Don’t worry, Luna!” She shouted, waving her hands. “I’ll get you down.”

“All right! Take your time!” Luna called after her.

Hermione watched them with interest from a distance. “Fred would be so proud of the antics you two get up to.” She said with a giggle, and Disapparated. “I’ll see you both tomorrow!”

Ginny summoned her Firebolt with a quick _Accio_ , and launched herself into the sky. The Flutterbies had borne Luna a fair distance before she managed to grab her leg.

“It’s funny.” Luna mused. “I’ve wanted to fly with you for a while.”

“Me too,” Ginny huffed. “Though I didn’t imagine it like this.”

She flexed her powerful legs and glided through the air. One by one, the Flutterbies let go of Luna. The two women made a slow descent to the ground, looking like a pair of shimmering bubbles. Squealing softly, they landed in a tangled heap in a field of flowers.

Ginny breathed in the fresh, sweet scent of flowers, moonlight, and Luna. Her own body had toughened up from years of training at Quidditch. Luna’s slight, frail form was so different. She had always been an easy target for the bullies at Hogwarts, especially that horrible Zacharias Smith, who wouldn’t stop calling her Loony. Ginny’s fist curled; her chest went tight with a sudden surge of protectiveness for her friend. She felt like a chivalrous knight as she extended a gallant hand. Luna took it at once, and clambered to her feet.

“It’s a good thing you play Quidditch so well.” Luna said, smiling up at her. “Flutterbies know how to have fun, but like one’s artistic muse, they can be such fair-weather friends. You keep me anchored in the places that matter.”

Ginny knelt down to examine her broom; there was no damage, not that there would be on a Firebolt. She plucked the last Flutterby that remained in Luna’s hair and placed it on the pouting, coquettish lips of a pink tulip.

The two held hands as they made their way back.

“One day, I’ll take you for a ride through the stars, and we’ll find the Crumple-Horned Snorkack together.”

The promise rang through the night, and Luna’s face was brighter than the moon.


	11. Draco

Draco sighed as he leaned over the board, twirling the chess pieces in his hand. He had always prided himself on his skills as a chess player. But at the moment, he racked his brains for the next move. Draco had never been quite as Slytherin as his parents hoped he’d be. As he had hoped to be. If he was, Draco would have sniffed out Delphi’s secret identity long ago, long before she could lay a finger on Potter. 

And Astoria. And Pansy! Where in Merlin’s name was his friend? 

He had not heard so much as a peep from her since that mysterious note. Was it even written by her? Was Pansy still alive? Draco’s blood ran cold at the thought. Why couldn’t he be Slytherin enough to figure out Delphi’s game, and protect his loved ones in danger from the cult? A black pawn on the other side of the board took out several of his white pawns, thwacking them on the head and dragging them, unconscious, off the board. Draco seethed in frustration. 

He was still in Grimmauld place, having resolved to guard Potter until the Eve of Hallowe’en. Surprisingly, the Granger-Weasleys had allowed him to stay. ~~The Weasel King~~ Mr. Ronald Granger-Weasley had muttered something inane about keeping friends close and enemies closer. 

Speaking of which…

“What are you doing?” A hard voice twanged in the doorway. The accent his father once called so plebeian. 

Draco looked up sharply. Mr. Granger-Weasley was staring at him with brilliant blue eyes. Still clad in impressive black Auror robes, the man was turning out to be much more than Draco had imagined. In addition to being Head Auror and hero of the War, this man had been recognized throughout the Wizarding World as a master chess player. As if it were not enough to be Draco’s rival for Potter’s friendship. Draco felt a pang, somewhere deep in his chest; the memory of Potter spurning him for this man was etched in acid on his soul. He had hated him for so long. But hate was not nearly as intense as this...thing he carried for Potter. Passion. Affection. Love. Whatever this was, it had become the lodestar of Draco’s life, however much he tried to fight it. Draco would do anything for Potter, even attempt to befriend a Weasley. 

The unconditional apology Draco had offered changed things between them. At least, he hoped so.

Draco took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

“I’m playing chess.” He said smoothly. 

“With yourself?” The man raised his eyebrows, and the corner of his mouth twitched as though he were going to smile. 

Draco didn’t like being laughed at, least of all by a Weasley. 

“Surely, that should be obvious.” He said through his teeth. “Is there anything wrong with me?”

“No,” Mr. Granger-Weasley said quickly. “I just thought you’d like some company.” 

He took a seat across from him on the sofa.

Draco stared at him in surprise, and then nodded. They began their game in silence. Draco took out several of his pawns, and a knight. But he knew he was hopelessly outmatched. Soon, he found himself at the end of his rope.

“Play nicely, Ron!” ~~Granger~~ Mrs. Granger-Weasley called from the hall. 

She bustled in and out of the room, a stack of books piled high in her arms. Mr. Granger-Weasley stroked his chin, frowning.

“Sorry is as sorry does.” He mused aloud. “You were once a Death Eater. You almost killed me, but even then I could tell you didn’t have the stomach for murder. More recently, you passed us some good stuff to chew on about Delphi’s cult.”

Draco couldn’t say anything to that.

**“** I still don’t like you.” He clarified. “But it seems we both care about Harry enough to work around it.”

“Good!” Draco said at once. “Then I’ll be honest with you. I’m very worried about Potter. I don’t think he told us the whole truth about the dream he had about Delphi.” 

Draco’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s time I revealed something to you.” He said seriously. “Something very important. _I lost both my parents to the Heart of the Dark_.”

The redhead sucked in a breath, his eyes wide. “Go on.” He commanded. 

“Even after the War, my father never fully rejected his belief in pureblood supremacy, and my mother didn’t have the guts to stand up to him. She was not like your mother, or Potter’s mother, you know.” 

Mr. Granger-Weasley waited for him to continue, and Draco sighed. 

“Two years ago, my parents decided to join the Heart of the Dark. On the night of Hallowe’en, they took a deep draught of the Dream Potion. Do you know what that does?”

“It transports you to the place Dreams come from.” Mr. Granger-Weasley said. “I studied it in Auror training. A Dream Potion can produce a Nightmare if not brewed correctly.”

Draco shivered. “You are quite right.” He said. “The cult is based somewhere in the land of Dreams, but my parents never returned from their trip. The next morning, I found them sitting quietly in their bed. Faces blank. A pair of ice statues. Both of them had been Kissed by Dementors.” 

“I held a funeral, told everyone they had died. Kreacher and I took care of them as long as they remained alive. Concealed their fate from the public for years. We didn’t want it known they’d dabbled in Dark magic again.” 

“I’m sorry you lost them.” Mr. Granger-Weasley said.

Draco swallowed hard. “They made their choices. They had it coming, unlike Rolf and Astoria. I had little faith in the ability of the Aurors to find the cult. I didn’t think you knew enough about Dark magic, and genuinely thought you would put me in Azkaban.” He lifted his chin, looked straight into Mr. Granger-Weasley’s eyes. “Clearly, I underestimated your intelligence.”

The other man chuckled. “A common mistake.” He said. “But one that often works to my advantage.”

Draco shrugged sadly. “I can confirm one thing: Astoria was totally innocent. She believed deeply in the side of the Light. Potter could do no wrong as far as she was concerned. She idolized him for freeing her from her bigotry.”

The two men looked up. Hermione Granger-Weasley stood in the doorway, looking horrified. “I heard everything you just said. Oh, Draco.” 

He gave her a watery smile. “Hermione,” He said automatically. “I’ve been trailing Delphi ever since. It’s likely she’s an old member of the Death Eaters who sought to punish my family for defecting from the Dark side. Her idea of revenge was to lure my parents into the cult, and sacrifice them to the Dementors on the night of Hallowe’en. My parents only passed away recently. Around the time Pansy disappeared.”

“There weren’t many female Death Eaters, as I recall.” Hermione said. “They were quite a male-dominated group. Our suspect list shouldn’t be long.”

“Don’t be afraid.” Mr. Granger-Weasley said to him. “We’ll solve this mystery if it’s the last thing we do. Delphi won’t be able to kill anyone, ever again. It takes a good strategy to defeat the Dark, and I’ve got that in spades.”

In a single move, he slid his remaining black knight forward, and it took out Draco’s king. “Check.” He said triumphantly. “And mate.” 

The defeated king sprang forward, and gave the knight a courteous bow. 

Draco couldn’t suppress a grin. “Good game.” He said.

Mr. Granger Weasley clapped him on the back. “Sure thing, mate. And do call me Ron.” 

The grin broadened. Draco held his hand out, and Ron shook it firmly. “Very well, Ron.” He said. “I’m glad to be part of the team.”

At Luna’s request, Draco joined her that evening for a walk in the Forbidden Forest. 

“Even the walls have ears,” She explained in her misty voice. “And I have some theories as to who Delphi is.”

“Oh yeah?” Draco asked.

“As I see it, there are two possibilities.” Luna said. “One is that Delphi is your Aunt Bellatrix in disguise. She was a powerful witch. It’s not unlikely she survived Mrs. Weasley’s curse. That’s Hermione’s theory, anyway.”

Draco was fairly sure his Auntie Bella was gone for good, but he didn’t press the matter. “What’s the other possibility?”

Luna paused. She looked up at him, her eyes like orbs in the darkness. “Sometimes, I wonder if Delphi is secretly the daughter of Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange.” She said seriously. “In _The Poison Pen_ she describes herself as such, at least in the spiritual sense. Perhaps the twist in this great game is that she meant it literally. Her ultimate goal could be to resurrect one of them, and rule the Wizarding World with them.”

Draco stared at her. Luna always had such strange ideas, but this time, he had to put his foot down.

“Everyone thought I was crazy for believing in the Snorkack.” She said earnestly. “And that Rolf was crazy for claiming the Death Eaters had returned.” 

Draco felt a surge of doubt at that last statement, but decided to ignore it. “Luna, I’m fairly certain Auntie Bella was not pregnant during the War.” He said. “She showed no signs of it. The Dark Lord did not return her love and lust. And even if he did, I doubt he would have been able to get her pregnant. He was more snake than human at the time of his death.” 

“If you want my honest opinion,” Draco continued, “I think Rita Skeeter is more likely to be Delphi. Those articles in _The Poison Pen_ certainly sound like her. And even then the chances are remote. Rita doesn’t have the brains. Or the power!” 

Luna took a long time to reply. “If Delphi’s desire is indeed to resurrect her parents, I can understand it.” She said quietly. “I long to see my mother again.”

“As do I.” Draco whispered back.

“We’ve lost so much.” Luna observed. “Much like Harry, we are effectively orphans. Just because I lost my father to estrangement doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

“You couldn’t forgive him for turning Potter in.” Draco said dryly. 

It was a statement, not a question. 

Luna shook her head. “No, I couldn’t. And I really, really tried. But there comes a time when even one as open-minded as I have limits. The estrangement hurts more than if he was dead. Because he is dead to me and yet alive at the same time.”

“Rolf was there for me when I lost my father.” Luna continued. “If I wasn’t a lesbian, I might have fallen for him.”

They had been over this before. Draco was as gay as Luna was lesbian, and they were both completely gone for two Gryffindor Quidditch heroes. It was one of the reasons they sought comfort in each other after the War.

“Astoria and I were forced to date by our parents.” Draco recalled. “But we became friends, and stayed in touch long after she married Scamander. Astoria was a far better person than I ever was. I have made many mistakes, but there comes a time when you have to choose what kind of person you want to be. What kind of man, in my case. War is a dark mirror. I looked into it, and hated what I saw.” 

“Is that why you took up Alchemy?” Luna asked. “To become a better person?”

Draco nodded. His face crumpled and he sunk to his knees, weeping quietly. Like the coward he knew he was. 

“Astoria was never a Death Eater.” He gasped. “It should have been me. I deserved to be Kissed by those Dementors. She had her whole life ahead of her!” 

Luna put her arms around him, shushing him like a comforting mother. He hugged her around the waist. It was testimony to their friendship that she did not recoil at the trickle of water that soaked her shirt. 

“You are a good man, Draco.” She said firmly. “Never doubt it.”

  
  



	12. Luna

“Well...” Malfoy said in his usual drawling voice. “We’d better be off.”

“That we must!” Luna said cheerfully.

She skipped to the front of the group. It was October 28th, three days to Hallowe'en. The shroud of the night’s darkness curled around them. She and Draco were strangely alike, Luna thought with some amusement. They both had gleaming skin, platinum-blonde hair, and silvery eyes. Harry’s verdant eyes followed Draco around. He looked sullen, even resentful of Draco’s presence, and Draco responded with an air of icy indifference, but Luna knew better. Her friends had it bad for each other.

Speaking of which, she and Draco had one other thing in common. They were smitten with two of the most oblivious Gryffindors to walk the planet. During Ginny’s relationship with Harry, Luna had resigned herself to loving Ginny from afar. It was enough to bask in the warmth of her friendship. Ginny had always been popular, but now she was a single, glamorous Quidditch star. A trail of fans hung off her arms, falling over themselves to get into her bed. Luna was still called Loony, even by her fellow Magizoologists. 

Luna turned around. Ginny was watching her. Luna felt her cheeks flush a soft, rosy pink. Those eyes were tinted with all the colors of autumn.

Ron cleared his throat. Luna stopped staring and quickly looked up.

“Where are you taking us, Draco?” Ron asked plainly.

“I have brewed a batch of the Dream potion in the basement of Malfoy Manor.” Draco said. Luna could hear a hint of pride in his voice. “We will drink it there, and it will transport us to the magical land of Dreams.”

Luna shivered. She hadn’t seen that basement in ten years, and her memories of it were not quite pleasant.

“Don’t worry, Luna! I will be with you every step of the way.” Ginny promised. 

“As will I,” Draco said. 

“I know you will.” Luna replied with a slight smile. 

Harry raised his eyebrows minutely, and Draco frowned.

“She’s my friend too, Potter!” He said sharply. “Friends look out for one another. Surely, you haven’t forgotten that.”

“I wasn’t aware you even knew what true friendship was.” Harry said coolly. “Let alone if you were capable of it.” 

Draco flushed with anger, and Hermione quickly cut in. 

“Let’s get to it. Please show us the way, Draco.”

The gang of six Apparated to the Manor. The tall, pale building gleamed in the moonlight. Luna was vaguely reminded of the late Lucius Malfoy. The Manor was always a little odd, especially when Hallowe’en crept closer.

A creaky silver elevator lurched, dragging them down to the basement. The door clicked open. Harry and Draco jostled one another, and to Luna’s amusement, moved away as if burned. 

The room had changed. The floor was laid with black wood. Cauldrons bubbled with blood red, midnight blue, and forest green potions. They gave off the foul stench of faeces and the sweet, celestial, _intoxicating_ aroma of jasmine. Luna had smelled many such things on her travels to strange places in the magical world. She slunk between the cauldrons, careful to avoid jostling them.

“Do not inhale the fumes.” Draco warned.

A long, dark shadow stretched like a serpent across the floor. Luna looked up. A black cauldron loomed in front of them. The potion inside glistened and simmered. The liquid was a turquoise color with hints of gold, lilac, and royal purple. Luna released the breath she was holding. The smell was sweet and heavy, much like the smoke Professor Trelawney used in her classroom. Divination had always been one of Luna’s favorite subjects. She smiled to herself, recalling Hermione’s intense dislike of it. 

“The Dream Potion.” Hermione said in a hushed voice. “Brilliant. It takes quite a skilled Alchemist to make something like that.”

Draco looked startled, and then smiled at her shyly. Luna knew he was internally screaming at the compliment from the “brightest witch of their age.”

“It needs one last ingredient.” Draco announced. “A single ounce of crushed moonstones, powdered fine and polished with liquid moonlight.”

He held up a glittering bottle for everyone to see. Luna’s stomach flipped. Moonstones, like the moon itself, held many secrets of love and madness. 

Draco popped open the cork. His delicate hands carefully emptied the bottle into the cauldron, which hummed. And thumped. The room began to shake and spin. Luna reached out and clasped Ginny in her arms. A single beam of light shot up from the potion, curling into wisps of gold in the air. Turquoise mist seeped out of the cauldron and spilled on the floor. There was a whirring sound. Reality itself melted and changed. They were shifting through space and time. Luna could feel her hair getting windblown. Everything stopped as soon as it started. 

The land of Dreams was an island. A lost and lonely island. Luna breathed in the fresh, salty smell of the ocean. All the winding paths were empty. The shops and houses were closed. Not a single person was there to greet them. It was all so quiet. Luna suppressed a shudder. She was used to the chirps and growls and barks and howls and songs of animals. The loneliness, the glaring absence of life left her cold. The island felt dead. 

“Are you sure you brewed this potion right, Malfoy?” Harry asked.

“Of course I have.” Draco said, affronted. 

“This land is a nightmare. It can’t be the land of Dreams.” 

Draco turned to face him, glaring. “Are you casting aspersions on my skills as a Potions master?” 

“Of course I am.” Harry said without an ounce of shame. “You only did well in Potions because Snape liked you.” 

Draco sneered. “What about you, Potter?” He spat. “The last time I checked, you needed Remedial Potions.” 

Harry went scarlet, clearly remembering his disastrous Occlumency lessons with Snape. “I did not!” He cried. 

“Did too!” 

“Did not!” 

“Did too!”

In the background, Ron groaned quietly. Hermione rolled her eyes. Luna caught Ginny’s eye and grinned. 

“It’s true that a Dream Potion can cause nightmares if not brewed well.” Luna said lightly. “But sometimes, the outcome is out of the master’s hands entirely, for the nightmares are planted in the dream by someone else.”

Draco and Harry stopped bickering and stared at her. Hermione and Ron looked uncomfortable. Luna gazed back at them steadily. The winds seemed suddenly much colder, like silver blades against her cheeks. 

“Luna’s right.” Ron said finally. “Delphi is baiting us. She wants us here for a reason.”

The winds moaned. Luna strained her ears. The only magical creatures she could sense were the Dementors. They were far away, but even so their cold darkness ate away at the edge of her mind.

A swarm of turquoise jellyfish rose up into the air from the black water around them. The jellyfish floated like a school of shimmering bubbles. A hush of awe fell over the group. Luna was vaguely reminded of the Flutterbies.

“That...what is that?” Hermione whispered. “What are they?” 

“Those,” Draco mused, “Are a very strange kind of Dark creature.”

“They’re beautiful, though.” Luna said. “Not all Darkness is evil, you know, and not all Light is good.”

“What _is_ good and evil then, Luna?” Ginny asked. 

Luna didn’t answer. The jellyfish floated in the purple, black, and pink sky. Soon they had merged into the shadows behind the clouds. Luna could hear light piano music tinkle and die down in time to their movements. The gang of six kept moving.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Black clouds gathered on the hill. Something was molding itself out of thin air. It was a tall, dark palace. 

Harry gasped. “I saw that in my dream!” He cried. 

Draco gave him a strange look. “Let’s not go in.” He said quietly. “There’s something...off about this place. I shouldn’t have brought you here.” 

“Don’t be silly.” Harry said. He turned to the others. “Come on, it’s time to put an end to Delphi’s work, once and for all.”

The palace seemed to hum as they drew near. Somber black towers were suddenly alight with golden lamps. The wooden door opened of its own accord. Everyone passed through, and it slammed shut. Almost as if someone was following them.

The room inside was filled with flowers, gems, and gold. A carpet shaped like a smiling sun stretched across the floor. Footsteps clacked in the distance. A shadow zipped past them, making Hermione shriek and bump into Ron.

“Hello.” Luna called. “Is anyone at home?”

There was no answer. They slunk up the spiraling stairs, their wands drawn and crackling. With every step they took, the stairs disappeared behind them. A bright yellow door popped on top of the stairs. It was like a beady little eye, gleaming, rooting them to the spot and compelling them closer. Something was gurgling behind it. 

“Be very still.” Luna commanded. “No creature likes to be startled, least of all in its own habitat.”

_Luna._ Said a muffled voice.

It had been years since she heard that voice anywhere but her sweetest dreams. “Mother?” She whispered.

_Luna._ Her mother said from behind the door. _I’m thirsty. Dying. Please come closer, closer, closer._

_You’re already dead!_ Luna’s brain supplied her with a sliver of rational thought, but Luna was the first to admit she was never good at logic. 

The gurgling grew louder.

_Closer, closer, closer…_

“Stop, Luna!” Harry shouted. “That’s not your mother!” 

_LUNA!_

Luna pushed past everyone and barged the door open. The sound was coming from a burlap sack on the floor. The sack thrashed about, lurched across the room and spilled open. Something crawled out of it and clambered to its feet. Luna found herself facing a full-grown Jabberwock.

Luna gasped. She had been searching for so long. The Jabberwock had cold, scaly, emerald-green flesh. Its tail was graceful and serpentine, and spiralled between two bent, frog-like legs. A bejeweled pair of antennae sprouted on either side of the creature’s head, giving it the look of an insect. Bat-like black wings whipped into a storm behind it. The Jabberwock crawled closer. Luna could see a forked tongue, and sparkling saber teeth. Its ruby red eyes spun in their sockets until they finally fixed on Luna. 

They were glaring at her. Uh oh. 

Ginny had whipped out her wand.

“Leave it to me.” Luna said firmly. “You are no match for the Jabberwock.” 

The Jabberwock let out a long, loud, blood-curdling cry. 

Ginny hesitated, but Luna held up a hand. She suddenly felt much more confident. “You will leave it to me.” She repeated.

The others hung back. Luna closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and started babbling in _Jabberwocky._

_It was brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe!_

The scaly thing froze like a block of green ice. The creature cocked its head, as though listening intently.

_Oh, as in uffish thought I stood, the Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, came whiffling through a tangled hood, and burbled as it came!_

The creature harrumphed and shook its head. It strove against the spell of her words, but with every word from Luna, edged backward. Luna waved her arms about, warding the creature away.

_“Beware, oh Jabberwock, our might! The jaws that bite, the wands that flash! Beware us_ _as you run to shun the frumious Bandersnatch!”_

The Jabberwock backed off, melted away. The scales shimmered until they looked like a pale evening shadow. Soon, the eyes were all that were left, and they fused into one glowing orb.

_It was brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe!_

The red-gold eye hung suspended in the air. Catlike pupils narrowed and strained. Luna had the distinct impression it was trying to tell her something. Then it was gone. 

“Did you kill it?” Ron asked. 

“Oh no, it left of its own accord.” Luna said earnestly. “I never kill animals. I merely said the right words to make it go.”

There was a scream in the Jabberwock’s voice. A picture on the far end of the room fell from the wall and shattered. Luna and her friends slowly made her way to the broken glass. It was a picture of the Jabberwock. A Dark witch, Luna was sickened to see, held the creature captive on a thin golden leash. She was clad in robes of royal purple. The face of the woman had been rubbed out until there was just a blank space left.

Luna turned the painting over. The leash of the Jabberwock had been folded and taped to the back of the painting. She opened it up. Someone had strung a golden bead on it. The bead was in the shape of the letter _I._

“This is a clue!” She said to Ginny.

“To what?” Ginny asked, puzzled. 

“To Delphi’s identity. That woman is Delphi. She has to be! She wants us here, and that Jabberwock is her servant.” Luna sighed. “But Jabberwocks belong in the wild, and it looked so unhappy.”

There was a brief pause. 

“However did you manage to learn Jabberwocky?” Draco asked in deep admiration. “You have to teach me sometime.”

“That can be our next project.” Luna said. “Some creatures respond better when you speak in their language.”

“What _is_ a Jabberwock?” Hermione demanded. She was pale with fright. “Why isn’t it listed in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by Newt Scamander?” 

“I think I’d like to know that myself.” Harry said weakly.

Draco smirked, and Luna looked at them in surprise.

“The Jabberwock, Bandersnatch, and Jubjub bird are very mysterious creatures.” She explained. “Unlike the Dementors, who lust for human souls, not much is known about what they want. So few of us are willing to open their minds and admit the existence of the Jabberwock. It stunts our knowledge of this elusive being.” 

Harry and Hermione still looked shaken, but Ron was beaming. He gave Luna a slow round of applause. 

“Most Aurors think Jabberwocky is a load of baloney.” He said, “But I know better. You were fantastic, Luna.”

“Well...Maybe we can set it free.” Hermione suggested finally. “If we ever see it again.”

“Right,” Harry said. “Let’s explore this place further, and see if we find more clues.”

They ambled out, leaving Luna and Ginny to themselves. Ginny reached out and touched Luna gently on the cheek. 

“I’m sorry about your mother.” She said in a soft voice. “That creature used her voice to hurt you.”

Luna gave an odd half-smile. “It’s all right, really. I hear her voice sometimes, in the whistle of the wind beyond the Veil.”

  
  



	13. Ginny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content notes: Ginny and Luna bond over their experiences with disability, Ginny with PTSD, Luna with autism. Also, Tom Riddle is a little creepy.

After wandering through the checkered rooms of the palace, they clambered into what looked like a bedroom. The walls, curtains, and bed-covers were pure white and pale gold. The blanket on the bed was embroidered with the image of a chariot that had been set aflame. The fire blazed in a round ball that looked like a sun. Six porcelain plates adorned the wall. Ginny’s skin prickled as she realized that each plate was a painted portrait of Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Luna, and herself. The plates formed a circle on the wall, like a chain of six planets in the solar system.

“Delphi’s bedroom, it must be!” Luna breathed. “She’s obsessed with us.” 

Ginny’s eyes wandered past the wall. Something made her stop dead. A ruined black tome, carefully placed on the bedside table. Almost as though Delphi had meant for her to find it. Ginny would recognize the book anywhere. It was Tom Riddle’s diary.

The world spun dizzily around her. The basilisk fang had burned several holes in it, but otherwise, the seams and pages were intact. What in Merlin’s name was it doing here? This book should have turned to dust, long ago. 

_You’re supposed to be dead, Tom._ She thought savagely. _And I’m pretty sure you still are._

Ginny grabbed the diary and flipped through it, fast. Tom’s dark and silky voice ran like watery ink through the pages.

_Childe Ginny, to the Dark Chamber came._

The cold mask of his haughty face swam to the surface of her mind’s eye, a silver snake in a green pool. 

“Is something wrong?” Luna asked. So sweet and innocent. 

Ginny flung the book across the room. Luna glanced at it, and understanding dawned on her face. 

“Open it,” she said gently. “We both know it’s supposed to be you.”

Ginny sank to the floor. She stared into space, trembling all over. A memory from long ago flashed before her eyes, a warning she would take to the grave. 

_Never trust anything that can think for itself if_ _you can't see_ _where it_ _keeps its brain_ _!_

Harry had told her once that some things in life were just destiny. They could not be altered, only endured. Harry was meant to be a Horcrux of Voldemort, and she was fated to be possessed by the bastard at the tender age of eleven. Even Time-Turners couldn’t change that. Ginny knew in her mind he was right, but still her heart rebelled. It was so unfair. They were just kids. She didn’t want to look at this book, much less open it, ever again.

“You must think I’m pathetic,” she muttered.

“Absolutely not.” Luna said firmly.

“Why?” Ginny demanded. “It took me years to get over this. Mum was so shaken up she listened to Dad for once and took me to see a Muggle therapist. One of the few Muggles to know about the Wizarding World.”

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Luna assured her. “I have had Muggle therapy too.”

Ginny looked up. “You have?”

“Oh, I most certainly have. I was diagnosed with autism as a child, and a Muggle therapist used to help me manage my symptoms.”

Ginny opened her eyes a little.

“She used to rub my arms with a sensory brush every week. Muggles call it occupational therapy,” Luna explained. “I also had CBT once a week.”

“I had the last one too, for my PTSD,” Ginny admitted. “Everyone who knew thought my parents were barmy for hiring my therapist, but CBT worked for me. It was in synergy with the daily Calming Draught I got from the Healers.”

“The Wizarding World relies on Muggles for a lot.” Luna observed. “We like to think we’re better than them, but in truth, all life-forms are interdependent. Everyone depends on others for something in their life.”

A knowing smile adorned her lips, and Ginny stared enraptured.

“Thank you,” she said finally, “For trusting me with this part of your life. I thought I was alone for a long time.”

Luna took her by the hand. 

“You’re the bravest woman I know.” She said earnestly. “We’ll get through this together.”

Ginny opened the book again. She held it up so both of them could see. 

The first page was weathered and blank, but as they waited, something appeared in blood-red paint. It was a picture of Luna and Ginny. A faceless image of Delphi stood directly behind them like a ghost. For the first time, seeds of doubt prickled in Ginny’s mind. Delphi couldn’t possibly be Voldemort in another one of his disguises, could she? Voldemort was dead. Harry had killed him. She’d helped him bury the corpse herself! There were no more Horcruxes. Then what was the connection between Delphi and Voldemort? 

Ginny turned the page. The next page had another picture of Delphi, as did all the pages after it. She flipped through the pages, faster and faster. Each picture showed Delphi in a slightly different place than before. The last, shining picture had her crawling in front of the paintings on the walls. She seemed to be searching for something on the floor. Ginny looked down. The floor was covered with a white mat.

She set the book down and drew her wand. 

_“Revelio.”_

The mat peeled away to reveal a trap door.

_“Alhomora!”_

The door creaked and cracked open. A black tunnel yawned and stretched into infinity, hitting them with a blast of cold air. _The past isn’t dead, it isn’t even past._ A Muggle author Ginny liked had once made that claim.

She grabbed Luna by the waist and jumped.

They tumbled down a wormhole. Chapters of Ginny’s life flashed and played like a movie before their eyes. 

Eleven-year-old Ginny, her eyes empty and staring, little hands tight around the throats of the school roosters until they went limp in her grasp.

Ginny mumbling a curse in Parseltongue, the words that set the basilisk on four innocent Muggle-borns.

Ginny with blood-red paint down her front, using it to write strange messages in the dark.

_Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever._

She landed on top of Luna with a crash. She dared peak at her surroundings only after they clambered to their feet, and the world stopped spinning.

They were in a dark replica of the Chamber of Secrets. Ginny made a mental note that Delphi was a very skilled Leglimens. She had spun this world like a spiderweb, drawing deep from the poisoned well of her memories. Her nightmares. A Dementor was waiting for them. The frozen smell of rotting meat wafted off its skin. Its pull on Ginny was very strong. In the back of her mind, she could hear herself struggling, foaming, cursing, crying on the floor of this very Chamber, desperate to free her soul as Tom laughed in the background...High and cold.

But as she geared up to cast the Patronus Charm, the Dementor surprised her with a deep bow.

_Ginny Weasley, the Once and Future Queen._

Ginny raised her eyebrows. The Dementor said nothing more, but pointed to the far end of the room. The Chamber had changed in the time since her last visit, Ginny thought with a wry grin. The skeleton of the basilisk lay in pieces on the floor. A tall tree bearing wine-red apples sprouted between the bones. Torches made of skeletal human hands blazed on the walls. The weird white light made the apples shimmer, a black sky full of red fireworks. Tom, she was unsurprised to see, stood under the tree and held one of the apples in his hand. He had bitten into it. Tom was as handsome as he’d been when Ginny had first met him, with raven hair and dazzling white skin. A crimson tongue passed over scarlet lips, savoring the nectar of the fruit.

“So,” Ginny said in a hard voice. “We meet again.”

Tom arched an eyebrow. “In a manner of speaking,” he said sleekly. “My stupid little Ginny. I may be dead, but you should have known you could never really kill me. _I complete you._ Did you really think that filthy Muggle therapist could banish me from your dreams?”

“I put you behind me years ago.” Ginny yelled. “Why have you come back?”

“I, like that old fool Dumbledore, will only be gone when there are none left who are loyal to me,” Tom intoned. “Happily, many of my Death Eaters still believe in what I stood for.” 

“He’s trying to make you angry,” Luna warned. “Be careful.”

Tom grinned, and gave her a mocking bow. “Ginny Weasley, the Once and Future Queen. Childe Ginny, to the Dark Chamber came.”

“What does that even mean?” Ginny demanded.

He cast her a patronizing look. “Childe sounds like the word child, but it also means youth of noble birth. A candidate for knighthood. You faced me once as a child, and now as a Quidditch star, the knight in shining armor to your lady love.” He cast a roving, amused eye over Luna, who squeezed her hand comfortingly. 

“And yet, you are Ginevra,” he mused. “The namesake of Guinevere, legendary Queen of Camelot. The Once and Future Queen. You even have her lovely auburn hair...I always valued bravery when I was alive, and you are a warrior-Queen if there ever was one.”

“You’re garbage, now get to the point,” Ginny snarled. “ _W_ _ho is Delphi?”_

Tom fell silent with an enigmatic smile. “You haven’t figured it out yet?” He said finally. “I will give you a clue. For the Heart of the Dark and the Dementors they worship, you and your love are very sacred beings. You straddle the boundary of Humans and Nature. You, with your skill as a warrior-Queen, and she, with her curious affinity with magical creatures, embody the best of Humans and Nature. They both hate and worship you. As do I.” 

Ginny stared at Tom, and indeed, there was a crazed kind of adoration on his face. The Dementor bowed low before her again.

“You aren’t capable of love,” she spat.

An ugly look crossed his face. “So Dumbledore always said.” Tom hissed. “But he often lied, didn’t he? Dumbledore never told anyone the whole truth, not even Potter. He died taking many secrets with him.”

Ginny bit her lip.

“Have an apple,” Tom said in a dulcet tone. “The sweetness will make you forget the pain.”

He plucked a fruit and held it out to her. Ginny gulped. It had been hours since she’d eaten or drank anything. Her tongue felt like sandpaper in her mouth, which watered at the sight of the succulent fruit.

“I romanced you in the flower of youth.” Tom said in a low voice. “You hate me for it, but you wouldn’t be _you_ if it hadn’t happened.”

Ginny recoiled. She was suddenly repulsed. In the wake of the War, her dreams of Harry were so often interspersed with nightmares of Tom. Harry turned into Tom, who became Harry and back again. The two boys bled into each other. Sometimes, she couldn’t tell them apart. Harry understood, and that was the reason their breakup had only made them better friends. For many years after that, Ginny thought she would never love again, but now her dreams of both boys had been replaced by sweeter ones of Luna.

“I’m all grown up now,” she shouted in the dark. “And I’m not scared of you anymore!”

She cast the Bat-Bogey Hex. Tom was caught completely off-guard. The apple fell from his hand and splattered on the ground. He shrieked as the phlegm in his nose became bats that clawed at his face. The Dementor lunged forward and reached for them with gnarled, grasping hands. The moan that spilled from its mouth would have curdled the blood of a unicorn.

“Come on, Luna.” Ginny said savagely. “We’re busting out of here.”

She Transfigured one of the basilisk bones into a broom. They swung on it and set off, the Dementor gliding after them. Ginny flew in spirals, but the Dementor kept a punishing pace. 

_“Expecto Patronum!”_ Luna cried. 

It was no use, the Dementor was on them. Slowly, the creature lifted its hood. The grey-green skull grinned at them. That mouth was a whirlpool, ready to suck them in with a Kiss. Ginny propelled herself forward with one last, desperate burst of strength. She could see light at the end of the tunnel. They had returned to Delphi’s room. Ginny and Luna slammed the trap door shut with the Dementor on the other side. Ginny banged the door several times on the creature’s hand to stop it from grasping at them.

They collapsed to the floor, panting for breath. It hit her that she and Luna might not survive the land of Dreams.

“Luna,” she said. “You have to know that I love you."

Luna squealed softly and flung her arms around her neck. “I was wondering when you’d say it.” She sighed, and pulled her into a firm kiss.

Ginny froze, and then melted into it, kissing back with everything she had. She’d been wanting this a long time. Once, after the War, Luna had invited her to taste some honey the Snorkack had left in the hollow of a Snicker-snack tree. That honey was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted, until now. Ginny kissed her fiercely and they collapsed as one on Delphi’s bed. 

Luna’s hands had moved from her shoulders to fumble at her waist. Silver eyes burned into bright brown. They were lying on top of the image of the flaming chariot. 

“Ginny,” She said urgently. “We have so little time. Let me make you feel good.”

Ginny nodded vigorously. “Please,” she sobbed. “I want you to.”

Ginny rolled onto her side, and Luna spooned her from behind, pressing a thigh against her hips. Skilled fingers slipped into her pants and quickly found her throbbing clit. Ginny keened and Luna gave her several soothing kisses on the back of her neck. It felt like being kissed by Flutterby wings. Luna played with her clit, making her jump and arch on Delphi’s bed. Ginny recalled flying with Luna and the Flutterbies at night, and came so hard she saw stars. 

Luna went rigid. Ginny opened her eyes and screamed.

A Dementor was watching them at the edge of the bed. Ginny rolled off it and did up her pants. Fuck!

The Dementor had a salacious grin on its empty face. It took Ginny a moment to realize it was the same creature that had been chasing them in the Chamber of Secrets. The Patronus Charm didn’t work very well here, so what were they to do? 

The creature held a fiery red apple out to them. It could not have been clearer that it wanted them to take the fruit, and it seemed to Ginny they had no choice. She plucked it from its hand. The Dementor bowed before her and vanished. Strangely, it did not seem to care whether they ate the apple, so Ginny stuck by her decision not to. 

_“Diffindo.”_

Ginny sliced the apple in two with the spell from her wand. The creamy flesh parted easily. The fruit had a golden bead in the shape of a word instead of pips.

_NOT_

  
  



	14. Ron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a veiled critique of the way Ron was portrayed in the HP movies and Cursed Child compared to the books.

Ron sighed as he checked the high-tech, digital Muggle watch Hermione got him for his birthday. October 28th had come and gone. It was now the 29th, and the time they had to solve the mystery was dwindling. Ron pressed two fingers to his temples. He had a headache. Harry and Draco were sniping at each other in the background.

“What happened to you and the Weaslette?” Draco was saying in his snotty voice. The prat was all right now, Ron supposed, but Merlin, was he still annoying. “Why did you break up? You two were the It couple for so long.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Will you please stop calling her that?” He snapped. “She’s got a name, you know. And she’s still one of my best friends.”

At the sight of Draco’s sneer, he narrowed his eyes and set his jaw stubbornly. “Oh, yes she is. If you really must know, we realized we were both bisexual, and the first people we came out to were each other.”

It was true. Ginny had told Harry before Mum, Dad, or any of her brothers, including Ron. Everyone had been supportive, even Percy, the one bloke in the family Ron had been worried about. But even after all these years, Ron marveled at the trust and friendship between his sister and best mate. He could not bring himself to envy it. That friendship had survived the end of the fairytale romance Ginny had been dreaming about since she was eleven. The fairytale everyone, especially Rita Skeeter, believed would end in a marriage.

Draco looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he brightened. “Luna will be happy to hear that.”

“I’m sure she already has,” Hermione said. She was beaming. 

“Really?” Harry asked in surprise.

“Of course,” Draco drawled. “Do try to keep up, Potter. She’s been head over heels for years.”

Draco watched the words sink in with a searching look on his face. But whatever he sought to find wasn’t there. Harry gave no sign of jealousy, and Ron could tell the news did not hurt at all. 

“I had no idea,” Harry said honestly. “But I’ve known them both for years. Luna will take care of Ginny, I’m sure of it.”

Draco tilted his head to the side. “So, has there been anyone else for the Savior? It seems he has people of all genders fighting to get into his bed.”

Harry arched an eyebrow. “What’s it worth to you?”

“Nothing whatsoever!” Draco said hastily. 

“Then it’s not worth telling you.”

“Is this a worthwhile conversation?” Ron groaned. 

It made him shudder to think of his best mate in those kinds of clutches with anyone, blokes or birds or anyone. It was a mental image he could do without. 

“Can we please get off the subject?”

“Right,” Harry said with a cheeky grin. “Sorry, man.”

There was a slight lull in the conversation, and Hermione stepped in.

“Ron, is there a way we can drop a line to the Aurors?” She inquired. “Kingsley and Minerva will want an update from us.”

Ron hesitated.

“I’ve been worried about that for a while, sweetheart,” he admitted quietly. “We don’t have access to Floo powder or Owl Post here. And even if we did, Kingsley and Minerva forbade me from telling the other Aurors about Delphi, so it’s not like we could get much help from 'em anyway.”

Ron had thought of asking Neville to come along on their trip, but Neville, who was currently the Herbology Professor at Hogwarts, had just married their old classmate Hannah Abbott. He was currently on his honeymoon. The man deserved some happiness, so they were stuck with Draco instead. But it wasn’t as bad as Ron thought it would be.

Unlike Neville, Ron was ill-suited to desk jobs. He often reserved the most dangerous assignments for himself. After Dobby’s near-death at the hands of Bellatrix, Ron swore not to risk the lives of his co-workers if he could help it. He kept the other Aurors busy with paperwork and simpler assignments, like vampires, kappas, and grindylows.

“In other words,” Hermione said in ringing tones. “We are well and truly trapped.”

There was a long silence.

“I am certain that this was Delphi’s intention,” Draco said darkly.

“What’s her endgame?” Harry wondered. “Why does she want us here?”

Ron snapped his fingers. 

“Let’s look at it like a game of chess,” he suggested. “What do we know about Delphi? Not much so far.” 

“We don’t even know if she’s a real person at all, let alone a woman,” Hermione added. 

Ron paused, and then continued thinking out loud. “All we know is this: Delphi’s the presumed head of the Heart of the Dark, a Death Eater cult that worships the Dementors. She writes for a hate magazine called _The Poison Pen._ And if she’s real, we have reason to suspect her of foul play.”

Draco raised his eyebrows minutely. “I suspect her of murder,” he said. “She’s the one who had the Scamanders killed, I’m convinced of it. And my parents.”

“Yes,” Hermione said quietly. “The cult did her bidding on May Day and Hallowe’en.”

Ron nodded his acknowledgement of both points.

“Pansy had something on them, I know it!” Draco burst out. 

He wrung his hands. “Mother, father, Astoria...all gone. Please don’t let her be dead.”

He started when Harry stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll find her,” Harry said. “Delphi can’t keep us in the dark forever.”

Draco turned and gave him a watery smile. “Thanks, Potter.”

“You know,” Harry said gruffly. “I get what it’s like to lose your parents. I may have been a child when it happened, but the pain never really goes away.”

Draco’s eyes widened.

“I never thought I’d agree with you Potter, but you’re right,” he said in a strangled voice.

Harry shrugged. “In time, you fill the void with friends. I’d be nothing without them.”

He gestured to Hermione and Ron, who swallowed hard. Hermione threaded her fingers in his and squeezed 'em comfortingly. 

“I miss Astoria and Pansy,” Draco whispered. 

“Don’t be afraid,” Harry said, and suddenly his face was ablaze in light. “We’ll find Pansy and avenge Astoria’s death. I can promise you that.”

He held out his hand, and with a soft smile, Draco shook it. Grey eyes met green. And for the first time, the two men looked at each other as friends.

It was cheesy and heartwarming and all that, but Ron got the distinct impression that something was wrong. The feeling grew stronger as they made their way up further into the palace. The path ended in a looming pair of black doors. Each of the doors had shining silver letters engraved on 'em. One said ‘Scary’. The other said ‘Very Scary’. 

“Ooh, I’m terrified.” Hermione said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “If Delphi wants to frighten us, she’ll have to do better.”

“Don’t underestimate her,” Draco chided gently, but he was still smiling.

Harry placed his hand firmly on the handle of the door that said Very Scary. His lips were thin and white, and he looked as determined as Ron had ever seen him.

“We need to split up.” Harry said. 

Ron looked at him doubtfully. “Are you sure about that, mate?”

“You and Hermione take that door. This one’s got to be me.” 

“Harry, you can’t risk your life like that!” Hermione began shrilly, but Harry cut her off. 

“This door is mine.” He pried it open and arched a gaze at Draco. “Coming?”

“Certainly,” Draco said at once.

They vanished in a swirl of wind. Hermione and Ron were left looking at each other.

“Well, sweetheart,” Ron said finally. “We’d better get going.” 

He placed his hand on the door. Hermione placed hers on top of his and they turned the handle together. The door slammed shut behind 'em. 

They were in a dark, empty room. As his eyes adjusted to the shadows, Ron could only make out two items: a gleaming mirror and golden box. The box was shaped like a coffin. It was rattling. 

It sprang open and they gasped. 

A life-sized wooden doll had been placed inside. It was the spitting image of Ron, with a tuft of flaming red hair. But the eyes were blank, dead. And it was dressed like a child’s toy clown. The face was painted white. A red ball had been stuck on its nose. The doll had been stuffed in frilly robes of blue and green.

“What the-” Hermione began. 

“Don’t say it,” Ron spat. “Whoever made that is clearly trying to fuck with our heads.” 

He stared at the doll’s clenched fist, which had been placed over its heart. Ron knelt down and pried it open to reveal four golden beads. Each bead was shaped like a word. 

_THE TELL-TALE HEART_

“That’s a Muggle horror story,” Hermione said, frowning. “I bought it once for a bit of light reading.”

The exposure to the air made all the beads crumble to dust. All, that is, except the word _TELL._

“And that’s a clue!” Ron cried. 

The dust particles vanished into the air around 'em, and he stuffed the remaining bead in his pocket. 

“What is the significance of the doll?” Hermione wondered aloud. “And the phrase, _THE TELL-TALE HEART?_ Why did everything but the word _TELL_ disappear on us? _”_

“Perhaps the answer’s in the mirror,” Ron suggested.

They slowly made their way to the mirror. The silence was absolute, save for their heels on the floor. The silver surface of the golden mirror shimmered. They stopped dead. White mist curled delicately on the other side of the glass. It was the Mirror of Erised. 

“How...how did this get here?” Hermione asked. Her voice was shaking. 

“Only someone with inside access to Hogwarts could have snuck it out,” Ron said grimly.

“That means,” Hermione reasoned, “that someone from Hogwarts is part of the cult.”

Ron stared into the mirror. His reflection smiled and waved back at him. From Head Auror, he had been promoted to Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and eventually to co-Minister of Magic with Hermione. The Hermione in the mirror hung like a princess off his arm. Something about her reminded him of Riddle-Hermione, the beautiful and terrible being he’d seen in the Horcrux long ago. And to top it all off, two nameless, bubbly children laughed and pranced around 'em. The sight made his heart ache. Ron gazed into the mirror, enthralled beyond words. 

“Ron?” The Hermione next to him tapped him on the arm. “Ron, talk to me. What do you see in the mirror?” 

The image shifted. Ron was declared the Chosen One...He was awarded the Order of Merlin, First, Second AND Third Class for killing Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange...wait. Where in Merlin’s name was Harry? Something here was very, very wrong.

The picture blurred into liquid light. Ron found himself staring at the ghostly grin of a Dementor. The foul creature lurked on the inside of the mirror like a monster at the bottom of a lake. Ron slowly drew his wand and placed the tip on the Dementor’s heart.

“What do you want?” He growled.

Ron placed himself bodily in front of Hermione. 

“You should know that if you want to Kiss my wife, you’ll have to Kiss me first.” 

_You are a gallant fellow, Ronald Granger-Weasley._

_All I wish is for you to talk with me._

“Very well,” he grumbled. 

_We have been watching you across many lifetimes._

“What is the Tell-Tale Heart?”

The Dementor smirked.

_According to our beliefs, you and your wife are one Heart in two bodies. You are a divine couple, destined for each other since the beginning of time. The same Heart beats in both of you. It is that Heart to which Delphi sang to summon you here. The Tell-Tale Heart tells many cosmic tales, and reveals many truths about the universe._

“What sort of truths are those?” Ron wanted to know. 

_Your partnership is an equal one: You do not follow the conventions of gender. You blended your surnames together. You share your household chores. All in all, you straddle the boundary of Wizards and Witches. But these truths are not the only message for you that Delphi placed in the beads. That’s why she only left you the word TELL._

“Who is Delphi?”

It was not Ron who’d spoken. From behind him, Hermione stepped forward and took her place by his side.

_Never mind that now. Dumbledore never told you what lay behind the Mirror of Erised. The glass conceals the Land of Fear, for what we fear is so closely linked to what we desire..._

The Dementor curled its fingers. The white glass in the mirror was suddenly filled with black ink. It glinted, and they were looking at an image of Ron’s eleven-year-old self. In the dark of the night, the poor boy was drooling with terror. He was surrounded by spiders of all sizes. Spiders with spindly legs and clicking pincers. Aragog, the long-dead Acromantula, sat regally before him. Ron cringed at the embarrassing sight, but despite himself, he felt his skin crawl. He hated spiders. 

“My sons and daughters do not harm Hagrid on my command. But I cannot deny them fresh meat when it wanders so willingly into our midst. Good-bye, friend of Hagrid.”

His childhood self screamed as the spiders swarmed him. Ron’s ears went red. This was something he’d hoped Hermione would never see.

“Don’t be ashamed,” Hermione whispered. “You saved me that year.”

The shades of midnight shifted into morning, and they were watching a Hogwarts DADA class. Ron’s thirteen-year-old self sat in the corner of the room. Hermione...was not his Hermione. She was far paler, and her hair straighter than it was in this life. She looked to be near tears. Snape was sneering at her.

“Do you take pride in being an insufferable know-it-all?” Snape asked. 

“He’s got a point, you know,” the Ron in the corner said. 

“What the fuck?!” Ron cried. “Let me have at him. I’d never...You know I’d never say anything like that!” 

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Hermione said primly. “That clearly isn’t the real Ron.” 

The warm hues of Hogwarts melted into the cool shades of late afternoon.

“Oh, no,” Ron said in dismay. 

The Ron in the mirror was everything he’d feared becoming as a child. His eyes were glazed over, and his ruddy face was flushed with alcohol. He was dressed like the clown in the coffin. At least it seemed he hadn’t lost his friendship with Harry, because they were talking. Like Hermione before him, the Harry in the mirror had lighter skin than the one he knew. Ginny was by his side. They were clearly married, and from what he could make out, they had a son together. A son they had lost and were desperately searching for.

“Ron,” Ginny was saying. “If you could get to the point before we all strangle you?” 

“He hasn’t run away—he’s having a quiet moment—he’s got himself an older girlfriend.” 

“An older girlfriend?” Harry asked.

“And a cracking one at that,” the Ron in the mirror said. “Gorgeous silver hair. Saw 'em on the roof together, near the Owlery...Nice to see my love potion used well, I thought.” 

Ron’s jaw dropped. Hermione stared, aghast. They both knew he hated love potions. Although Ron had forgiven Draco for what he’d done under duress during the War, one didn’t just forget stuff like that. Ron couldn’t bring himself to work with love potions. That was one of the reasons he’d taken Hermione’s advice and continued as an Auror, rather than join George at the joke shop. 

“Her hair,” Harry said. “Was it silver and blue?” 

“That’s it—silver, blue—yup.” 

“He’s talking about Delphi Diggory,” Harry shouted.

Ron understood. These scenes were a false lead on Delphi’s identity, they were meant to fuck with his head. Maybe the last two really did happen in a different timeline. An alternate universe. But in this lifetime, Ron wasn’t a clown or a drunkard or a pervert. He was Head Auror, and he had his place in the Trio. They were all Gryffindors, but in a real sense, he was the Hufflepuff to Harry’s Slytherin and Hermione’s Ravenclaw. 

“Hermione,” he said urgently. “We need to break into the mirror and apprehend this Dementor. Can you help me do that?”

She was shaking slightly, no doubt at the thought of the Land of Fear. But she nodded vigorously.

“Good,” Ron said. “We’ll cast the spell on the count of three.” 

“One, two, three—REDUCTO!”

The glass surface cracked. The shards sparkled like stars as they leaned in and fell headlong into the mirror.

  
  



	15. Hermione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two riddles in this chapter are from ancient Sumer and a book called The Garden of Forking Paths by Jorge Luis Borges.

For a place that seemed so sinister, the Land of Fear was surprisingly boring. It was just an endless field of cracked earth and dry grass. A dull stretch of grey sky yawned overhead, and the Dementor was nowhere to be seen. Hermione observed there was nothing here. Nothing, at least, that was visible to the naked eye. No wonder Dumbledore had never bothered to mention it.

“Hermione,” Ron said, “I don’t know a whole lot about the Land of Fear. Have you ever come across it in your books?”

Hermione thought for a moment. “I can only recall one mention of it in the Restricted Section of the Ministry archives,” she confessed. “The author of _Boggarts, A History_ claimed on page 29 that the Land of Fear is a haven for boggarts and other creatures that feed on fear. Boggarts from all over England meet here on the night of Hallowe’en. They assume their true shape and dance around a green fire by the light of a black sun.”

As she said it, grey clouds parted in the sky to reveal a black disk. A weird white light glowed from behind the disk, casting a pearly sheen around the field. Ron watched it with growing apprehension, and Hermione too felt a frisson of fear.

“What’s your take on the theory?” He asked finally. “Do you believe it?” 

“Well, there’s a dearth of established research on the matter,” she said carefully. “But theoretically, anything is possible.”

“Theoretically and practically,” Ron said.

Hermione nodded. “I never thought I’d see a Jabberwock with my own eyes, let alone be made to acknowledge its existence.”

Ron snickered, and Hermione basked in the sound.

“It’s funny, but Luna’s been right about a lot of things,” He said. “I wonder if she has the right idea about Delphi. Maybe Delphi IS the secret love child of Voldemort and Bellatrix.” 

Hermione looked up at him. Ron’s eyes were still bright with laughter. 

“Luna’s a brilliant scholar and a great friend, but her worldview isn’t mine,” she sighed. “Our ways of gathering knowledge are very different. I’ll need a lot of proof before I can believe something like that.”

Hermione didn’t think Bellatrix was capable of being a mother. And even if she was, her child would have been unlikely to survive the Battle of Hogwarts. Bellatrix would have given it up in service to Voldemort. 

“Sometimes, you gotta have a little faith,” Ron said. “Especially in your gut instincts. Remember what Harry said? DADA is about your brains AND guts. And that’s been true enough for me in my line of work.”

Hermione relied on her powers of logic because she had no gut instincts to speak of, but chose to ignore that for the time being.

“That’s fair. Harry is wise beyond his years, isn’t he?” She asked. 

Ron nodded fervently.

In the absence of his parents, Ron and Hermione had played a big part in raising Harry over the years, and they were proud of all he’d accomplished. It wasn’t like Harry could have depended on his aunt and uncle for support. Ron and Hermione were a united front behind him, and that was how she knew they would be great parents someday. 

“The truth is a strange and mysterious thing,” Hermione mused. “In my work I’ve learned there are many ways to be a scholar and acquire knowledge. I suppose Luna and I both have some things right and some things wrong.” 

“Speaking of acquiring knowledge, I’d love to know where that blasted Dementor is!” Ron grumbled. “I hope I haven’t brought you here on a wild-goose chase.”

A gust of wind howled across the plain. For a split second, Hermione could have sworn she saw the Dementor hovering in the air above them. The creature rasped and lunged for them, its teeth bared. She blinked and it was gone.

“Maybe it’s waiting for us somewhere,” she suggested. 

“Right,” Ron said. “If the Dementor won’t come to us, we’ll go to the Dementor! What do you say?” 

“I agree!” Hermione replied.

There was a sound like silvery wind chimes in the air, and a grey meadow with black tulips unfolded before them like a royal carpet. A fire, electric-green as the light of the Killing Curse, burned at the very center. A line of wispy, milk-white skeletons swayed and sang and danced in a circle around the fire. One by one, they began to jump over the flames. 

“Boggarts,” Hermione murmured. “So the legend was true after all.”

“And that’s what those things look like when they’re not trying to scare us,” Ron said. “Cool!”

In the real world, boggarts could be banished with a simple _Riddikulus_ spell. But Hermione didn’t want to risk it in this strange land. A sheer mountain with coal-black soil loomed over them. Nothing grew from it.

“Ron,” Hermione whispered. “Look there!”

A stone cave was embedded on a high ledge in the mountain. Austere and foreboding, it was carved in the shape of the Dark Mark. The gaping mouth of the skull swallowed the tail of a snake, which coiled beside it and bared its fangs. 

“That settles it,” Ron muttered. “Delphi DOES have something to do with Voldemort.”

Hermione was inclined to agree. “At this point, it’s only a matter of figuring out the nature of their connection.” 

A fire, blue as the colours of Ravenclaw House, was burning from the inside of the skull. It posed a sharp contrast to the Slytherin-green below. They slunk in through the skull’s gaping mouth and walked past the place where the blue fire burned. Hermione had the strange sensation they were being eaten as they ducked under the sharp stone teeth. In the right eye of the skull, the Dementor was waiting for them. It stared at them through empty eyes and seemed to savor their feelings of fear.

“Now look here,” Ron said, breathing fast, “Surely you don’t think you can fool us forever! We brought down Voldemort and we’ll unmask Delphi. Whatever you did to Scamander and his wife won’t go unavenged. We will make sure of it.”

Hermione’s heart was banging in her chest. She lifted her chin and looked at the Dementor with an expression she hoped conveyed a cold disdain. “Ron and I are only interested in one thing,” she snapped, “Justice for your victims!” 

The Dementor didn’t seem at all intimidated. In fact, Hermione had the odd impression it was laughing at them.

_Delphi seeks to test the heroes who vanquished the Dark Lord, and wants you to figure out who she is!_

Hermione exchanged glances with Ron. So it seemed for the time being that Delphi was a woman. Very good. The boggarts were still singing outside. Hermione strode past the Dementor and gazed down at them through the eye of the skull.

“What in Merlin’s name are they doing?” She asked, and the Dementor smiled darkly. 

_Listen to them. Such sweet music they make._

“I must say I prefer the piano,” Hermione said acidly. “Will you enlighten us, or are we going to have to find out for ourselves?”

_Why, they are praying._

_Praying to YOU!_

“To ME?” Hermione asked in genuine astonishment. 

_To both of you. Mr. and Mrs. Granger-Weasley. The boggarts are converts to the Heart of the Dark. They pray that their dance with the fire will give them children. And as the God and Goddess who straddle the boundary of gender, who better to bless them in their quest for reproduction? Reproduction, that is, without sexual union._

“Oh, what is all of this?!” Ron ground out. “Hermione and I aren’t Gods. We’ve never claimed to be anything but ordinary people!” 

“The wizarding world has a dozen potions and charms that could give these boggarts what they want,” Hermione reasoned. “And we have no power to answer their prayers. So, why keep them in the thrall of superstition?” 

If she was a real Goddess, Hermione thought wryly, the Battle of Hogwarts would have gone very differently. Bellatrix would have felt a lot more pain before she died…

_As you noted just now, you along with the Potter boy vanquished the Dark Lord. Is that not real power? Does it not make you worthy of our worship?_

“Nope,” Ron said, but Hermione bit her lip. 

She had been derided as a Mudblood for most of her life. It was hard not to internalize the hatred and oppression that came with the word. On most days, Hermione was able to do it. She was the founder of SPUG, after all! But sometimes, a dark part of her craved the approval of people like Bellatrix, who would never see her as an equal. She had always been good at school, but this darkness spurred her to study harder and harder. There was something flattering about being worshipped as a Goddess by Death Eaters, the people who loathed her most for being Muggle-born. 

_Do not fret._ _Your quest for knowledge has burned away the impurity of your blood._

Such dark, sweet words. She stared breathlessly at the Dementor. Bellatrix’s contemptuous gaze swam before her eyes. How would it feel to be revered by Bellatrix as Voldemort had been? The idea was strangely intoxicating. 

“I understand you’re not going to tell us Delphi’s name anytime soon,” she said, her voice trembling. “But surely you can divulge the name of one of her followers. As your Goddess, you owe me that much!”

A tense silence ensued. Hermione noted with satisfaction that her logic hit home.

_Look around you._

Hermione scanned the walls of the skull’s eye. An endless line of Ancient Runes had been written there. The azure flames of the fire made it glow like embers against a black pile of ashes. 

_SNEAK...SNEAK...SNEAK...SNEAK...SNEAK...SNEAK...SNEAK...SNEAK..._

A wan, long-forgotten face like the pale moon, framed by red-gold hair and eyes of midnight blue. Pimples scarred her nose and cheeks like shadows on the surface of the moon. They were pimples Hermione had put there.

“Marietta Edgecombe,” she breathed.

_Yes._

Hermione swallowed hard.

_Don’t look like that. Ms. Edgecombe has quite forgiven you. She set aside her grudge when she joined the Heart of the Dark. She now adores you as much as the rest of us. In fact, Ms. Edgecombe was the mastermind behind Ms. Parkinson’s disappearance, which was orchestrated by Delphi to bring you here._

“Where is Pansy Parkinson?” She demanded. “What did you do to her?” 

The Dementor hummed. 

_I assure you she’s quite safe, for the time being._

“Where is Pansy Parkinson?” Hermione repeated. 

The Dementor drew a tiny golden mirror from its robes and held the thing up for them to see. The glass sparkled in the firelight. 

_Do you want to know how I contacted you through the Mirror of Erised? I used this treasure. It has properties known only to my kind._

The Dementor crushed the mirror in its hand. The broken pieces of the mirror melted into liquid light, which the creature shaped into a golden spyglass as if it were clay. The Dementor handed the spyglass to Hermione. 

_This spyglass will reveal your greatest fear._

“Hermione?” Ron said slowly, “I have a bad feeling about this!”

She hardly heard him. It was her thirst for everlasting knowledge that made her aware of injustice and social oppression.

“I am a Gryffindor,” she said grimly. “I will not cower in the face of this vision.”

She snatched the spyglass from the Dementor’s hand. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she peered through the lens.

“I see,” she declared. “I see!” 

The lens of the spyglass revealed a dark academic library. A stack of seven books sat unassumingly on a warm, rich mahogany table. As Hermione watched, a gust of wind blew the books open. One by one, they told the story of Harry Potter. But that was not all. Like threads through a quilt, the story was interspersed with an infinite number of other tales, many of which diverged from or contradicted the words in the books. Hermione saw it as a perfect whole. A tree with an infinite number of branches and flowers that reached for eternity.

The myriad stories formed a picture. A plane of outer space. An infinite number of magical worlds, Earths, solar systems, and galaxies swirled in the night. Stars were born and died, becoming black holes or portals to other worlds. Multiverses were created and destroyed before her eyes. Wizards and witches were born and killed. They boarded the train at King’s Cross station for an endless number of afterlives. Everything was fixed only in its constant state of change. And each multiverse contained an infinite number of Hermiones. Each version was her own unique self.

In some of the worlds she beheld, Harry defeated Voldemort and Hermione succeeded Kingsley to become Minister of Magic. In others, Voldemort and Bellatrix won; Hermione was the most wanted terrorist under their reign. But in most of the worlds, Hermione fought at Harry’s side, and knew untold suffering at the hands of Bellatrix. Every Hermione desperately sought some higher meaning and purpose to the torture she endured.

After reading a dozen textbooks, both Muggle and magic, some versions of Hermione reasoned that their suffering was the result of Voldemort flouting the natural laws of magic in order to attain immortality. Others concluded that Dumbledore permitted her suffering as part of a grand drama for the Greater Good. But in the end, none of the Hermiones ever found a satisfying answer. None of her theories were good enough to fit all the worlds in the spyglass. In every possible universe, Hermione was doomed to live her life tormented by the existential crisis the War had given her. 

The scars on her body began to tingle. She was unsurprised to find that at the very center of the multiverse, Bellatrix was waiting for her. Only her black shadow was visible.

“Sweet girl,” she cooed, “There is no reversing what I’ve done to you. A part of you belongs to me just as my Lord stole a piece of Ginevra Weasley’s heart.” 

As Hermione screamed in despair, the multiple worlds converged into an abyss. Bellatrix dissolved, and the darkness began to spin. Hermione had a fleeting vision of the skeletal boggarts skipping around the fire. Ron was yelling: “Hermione! Hermione!” All the light from the multiverse poured into her brain. 

“No more!” She pleaded. “Make it stop!” 

The Dementor was silent.

“No,” Hermione screeched. “No! NOOO!!!!!”

She tore the spyglass off her face. Thunder crashed and an earthquake shook the Land of Fear to its bones. A dust-filled tornado swept past and swooped down on them. The stone skull and snake crumbled to dust as it sucked them into its spiral. Hermione could hear the Dementor cackling as it disintegrated along with the fires and boggarts.

“Hermione!” Ron shouted.

They whirled around in the tornado. Hermione’s hair was windblown in the storm. Her husband’s face was clear in the disarray, and it calmed her. She reached out and grabbed him by the arm. 

“I’m here, Ron!” She squealed. 

They clung to each other as the spinning stopped and the tornado tossed them to the ground with a crash. When the world came to a standstill, Hermione looked around. They wobbled to their feet to find they were back in the Land of Dreams, in the room with the golden coffin and shattered Mirror of Erised. In the shards of the mirror, Hermione could see traces of the Dementor’s reflection.

Hermione began to sift through the broken pieces. She quietly explained what she had seen in the spyglass. 

“I always knew there were more important things than knowledge,” she said. “But I forgot that seeking knowledge could itself lead to the Dark. Can you ever forgive me?” 

Ron pulled her close and gave her a hard kiss. “There’s nothing to forgive,” he said forcefully. “You fought that thing and got through it! None of us are really immune to the pull of Dark magic. That’s why we Aurors exist.”

Suddenly, Ron froze. He knelt down and unearthed the spyglass from the splinters of the mirror’s frame. When Hermione touched it, the spyglass turned into a golden bead shaped like the word _MUST._ It was really most peculiar. She slipped the item in her pocket.

A note had been rolled up next to the spyglass. Ron picked it up and read it aloud.

_There is a house. One enters it blind and comes out seeing. What is it?_

“School!” Hermione said. “Though it’s wrong and quite prejudiced to equate blindness with ignorance.”

The riddle gave way to another.

_In a riddle whose answer is chess, what is the only prohibited word?_

“Chess, of course!” Ron said at once. “And I’d know.”

The words melted away to reveal something else.

Dear Draco, 

Forgive me for using riddles to protect this note. The members of this cult are not all that bright, and they are unlikely to figure them out. Draco, I’m going to die. I have resolved to take my secrets to the grave, for knowledge of my fate would imperil your life.

I’m sorry-

Pansy

  
  



	16. Harry

The door marked Very Scary sprang open to reveal an imposing throne and a vivid painting of a golden chariot. Harry recognized the room from the dream he had before his search for Delphi. Stone serpents wound around black pillars, their eyes were like the bright, bulging, yellow-green eyes of a toad. He tore his eyes away from them at the feel of Malfoy’s gaze.

“Don’t care for the decor?” There was a hint of snark in the Slytherin’s voice. 

“Oh, it’s hideous, all right,” Harry said, pointing at the serpents, “but at least it tells us Delphi’s a Slytherin.” 

He expected the other man to flare up, but instead Malfoy hung his head, and his shoulders slumped a little.

“I’m afraid you’re right,” he said quietly, “we Slytherins have done a lot to deserve our bad name. Astoria worked all her life to change that, to no avail.” 

Harry studied him for a bit. “People from all four Houses were needed to bring down Voldemort,” he said seriously. The qualities of all the Houses were needed to bring down Voldemort. This was something Hermione often said but no one could believe it more deeply than Harry. Wars, and for that matter social movements, needed all kinds of skills. They could not have won without cunning, intelligence, bravery AND loyalty. Where would they have been without their Slytherin spies and Hufflepuff friends who stuck by them even when no one else believed Harry about the second rise of Voldemort? 

Harry thought of Slytherins like Regulus Black and Severus Snape, Hufflepuffs like Tonks, Ravenclaws like Luna, and of course, Gryffindors like Ginny and Neville and Ron and Hermione and himself. The war heroes from all four Houses would be remembered and celebrated as long as Harry was the Savior and a master of Hogwarts School. 

“The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, it said I’d do well there!” 

He grinned as Malfoy’s head whipped around and he did a double take. “Now that’s a story I have to hear, in the unlikely event we survive this place.”

“I know we will,” Harry said, sounding more sure than he felt, “I was the Boy Who Lived, remember? And I’m going to stay the Man Who Lived for a very long time.”

“Perhaps,” Malfoy said in languid tones, and his voice took on the razor edge of a sneer, “but you always had other people to keep it that way—first it was Dumbledore and the Order and now it’s Ron and Hermione and Luna and Ginevra and me. You chose to be noble and refused to be the Master of Death and now our job is harder for it.” 

Harry bit his lip. He didn’t regret refusing the Deathly Hallows but there were days he was just like any other wizard and wished he were immortal. Days he rued how tired he was, the aches and pains in his joints and the melancholy of aging and most of all, the heavy burden his mortality imposed on his friends. 

“If anyone deserves to be immortal, you do,” Malfoy whispered.

“What?” Harry asked. 

“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” Malfoy hissed, “you probably think I’m in league with Delphi and I can hardly blame you for that. I put you all in terrible danger and I can’t even begin to deserve your trust.”

“Well, I cheated Death seven times, didn’t I? Maybe I’ll get lucky again.”

“Don’t! Don’t say that!” Malfoy cried. 

Harry was a little startled by his vehemence. “Why not? I came here knowing full well I was risking my life.” 

Malfoy’s eyes were so bright they were almost wet and his shoulders were trembling. “Don’t you even care anymore? Don’t you care what your name means to everyone touched by the Dark Lord’s regime? All the Muggle-borns and house-elves Hermione bangs on about. And all the ex-Death Eaters who for once in their lives want to do the right thing. Astoria always said you gave her the courage to be a better person. Doesn’t that matter to you at all?” 

Malfoy kept staring at him, and Harry felt ashamed of himself. “I won’t get myself killed tonight, I promise.” 

Being the Savior came with many responsibilities. It was funny that it took MALFOY for him to remember that. 

Malfoy swallowed hard. His slender neck had gone slightly pink. 

“I’ll hold you all to that,” Malfoy shot back. 

Harry was silent for a while. Being Harry Potter, it was so easy to forget what his name stood for in the wizarding world. Malfoy, like all former Death Eaters, had no such luxury. He and his family spent most of their trial in Azkaban. And Harry often wondered if anyone—guilty or innocent—really deserved that place. Was prison really a solution for neo-Death Eaters? Harry wasn’t sure he knew the answer to that question. Azkaban was rife with Dark magic even without the Dementors, and in the aftermath of Voldemort’s downfall, it had become a hotbed of neo-Death Eater groups that had formed among the inmates.

A place where Dark wizards and witches found each other and became radicalized.

“Doesn’t it seem like the Heart of the Dark wants us here tonight?” Harry asked. “Both of us. Delphi made Pansy disappear in order to lure us to this place. She wanted you to get me to come along.” 

“I’m a damned fool,” Malfoy said grimly, “She wants all six of us: You, me, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Luna. That’s probably why she murdered Astoria, Rolf, and my parents in the first place.”

They were running out of time, Harry realized. The night of October 31st had arrived. Children would be out trick-or-treating in the real world. And Harry had a strange feeling that the cult was playing a joke on them: Some kind of Hallowe’en trick. 

You’re not the fool here, he wanted to say. I am. 

_My Lord and Master, Harry Potter. Welcome!_

Something was sprawled over the throne like a large, pale spider. Harry had seen many pictures of it in the _The Tales of Beedle the Bard._

Death was almost thirteen feet tall, with a robe that flared like a black fire. Strands of pale skin hung from bleached white bones as if it had been flayed. And the creature gave off a most peculiar smell—the smell of ash and volcanic rock. 

Death’s silver teeth were bared in a grin and its eyes were black whirlpools. Those eyes were trained on him as it slowly rose and stepped down from the throne. They held his gaze as the creature got on bony knees to kiss the hem of Harry’s robe. A wave of nausea hit Harry. He fought the urge to scream as memories of the Death Eaters kissing Voldemort’s robe flooded his brain. But Malfoy reached over and placed a trembling hand on his forearm. 

_Welcome, my Lord. Ten years ago, you underwent Death and Rebirth. Resurrection, if you will. You were betrayed by your mentor, Albus Dumbledore to die a martyr’s Death. And like a martyr, a Savior, a God, you rose again to vanquish the Dark Lord._

Dumbledore’s betrayal meant nothing, of course.

_Tonight, my Lord, you will be betrayed to die a martyr’s Death again. And from this Death there is no return._

Malfoy made a sudden movement. Harry raised his eyebrows at the creature who claimed to be his servant and forced his lips into an awful smile. 

“Tell the truth!” He commanded, reminding himself of Voldemort. “What do you mean?” 

_You and your silver-eyed companion straddle the boundary of Life and Death, and thereby represent the most complex of all symbols for the Heart of the Dark._

Malfoy shifted uneasily at his side. 

_You do not understand? Of all mortal beings, you alone possess power over Death whether you want it or not. I worship you, as do the Dementors and the boggarts and the Heart of the Dark. The Malfoy boy is the very ideal of pureblood beauty and teeming with Life. And Death always feeds upon Life._

_I have come to offer you salvation. A chance to avoid the painful end in store for you. I will spirit you away to my realm. You will live as my Master, blessed with eternal life and youth. You will be with your parents and never be parted from them again._

Oh. Harry sucked in a breath through his teeth. That was painful. The words were like a punch to the gut. 

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. “Such deals often come with a price,” he said coolly, and his voice was like a knife cutting through a swirl of sweet-smelling smoke. “What’s yours?” 

Death kept its sunken eyes locked on Harry. 

_It’s very simple, my Lord. Give me the soul of the Malfoy boy, and I will save you from your martyr’s end._

Malfoy froze, and Harry felt like he’d received a huge electric shock. The image swam before him: James and Lily Potter merrily waving at their son. Fred was full of life and Sirius was young and handsome and even Dumbledore was there, with twinkly eyes and an impish grin and a long, sweeping auburn beard. All of them were ready to tell him the things they’d never told him in life. 

“Well,” Malfoy said finally, “I suppose there’s no such thing as free lunch.” 

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, puzzled. 

“Do it, Potter! Hand me over and at least one of us will get out of here alive.”

The words hit him like cold water in the face and Malfoy smiled, showing all his teeth. 

“You know I’d do the same if our roles were reversed.” 

For a Slytherin, Malfoy really was a terrible liar, Harry thought with a sigh. Even a shit Occlumens like himself could figure that out. And whatever Malfoy said, Harry had made his decision. He turned to Death with blazing green eyes: “I’ll go with you someday and when I do, I will greet you as a friend. Tell my mum I’ll be seeing her again soon. But not yet. I still have many things to do before dying.”

Death’s smile didn’t even falter. 

_I knew you would say that, my Lord._

_You can’t even sell your own soul, let alone anyone else’s._

_You have too beautiful a nature for that..._

Gnarled white fingers unhooked a gold chain from its neck and handed it to him. 

Harry hadn’t even noticed it before.

_I will wait for you, my Lord. Now take this treasure, it_ _will help you in your search for Delphi’s true name._

Harry nodded imperiously and wrapped the chain around his wrist. 

“Death!” He said suddenly. “If you’re really on my side, tell me where my friends are.” 

Death flung out its arms and seemed to scoop Ron and Hermione out of thin air. 

_Here you go. But you must find the others on your own. Good bye, Master._

Death bowed and vanished in a curl of black mist. Hermione and Ron fell to the floor with a thunk. 

Malfoy stared at the empty space where Death had been, his legs nearly giving out beneath him. “Potter,” he groaned, “Hermione always said you have a saving-people thing. And she was so right!” 

“Why did you offer to sacrifice yourself?” Harry asked bluntly. 

Before Malfoy could reply, they heard a stir on the ground and a feeble voice said: “I know I never make mistakes but what was I right about this time?”

“Never mind,” Harry said hastily, running over to her and Ron. “Are you alright? We’ve got loads to tell you!” 

Ron and Hermione came to very quickly. Hermione listened with rapt attention and Ron’s eyes nearly fell out of his head as Harry and Malfoy filled them in on their brush with Death. 

“Blimey! So the Tale of Beedle the Bard was true after all!” He exclaimed. 

“Some of it, at least,” Hermione corrected. 

“Yeah,” Malfoy said, “so that’s basically what happened with us. What did you all find when you were gone?”

Hermione and Ron looked at each other. “You’re not going to like this, mate,” Ron said finally, “But we think we found a clue about Parkinson.”

  
  



	17. Draco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween everyone!  
> Please note that the following tags apply to this chapter: Rape Fantasy, Hidden Enemies, and Betrayal.  
> We're getting very close to the end of this story. Thank you to all the readers who have stuck with me so far.

The Temple paths were tortuous and twisted, just like the serpents that circled the pillars. The tunnels seemed to lead both nowhere and everywhere at once. Draco reckoned they had ventured far beyond the foundations of the palace. He would have liked the design of the Temple if he hadn’t been so frightened. Ron and Hermione’s story had left him deeply shaken, as had the note they showed him. The strange note that was apparently from Pansy. 

The doors at the end of the tunnel creaked open. Luna and ~~The Weaslette~~ Ginevra Molly Weasley were waiting for them. Draco took a moment to coolly assess their surroundings. 

They were in a room full of Dark objects, one that was extraordinarily like Borgin and Burke’s. A Vanishing Cabinet. A human heart, red as roses and wine, had been pierced all the way through with a silver arrow and placed on the table, dripping in blood. A Hand of Glory, much like the one he bought from Borgin and Burke’s long ago; a severed hand, dried and pickled and made into a candle, each finger bright with fire. Ginevra’s hair burned gold in the flames. Luna stood in the shadows like a glittering pillar behind her. Ginevra was seated on a chair that creaked as she rocked back and forth. Old memories flooded him at the sight. Draco could finally admit, if only to himself, how jealous he was of her beauty and prowess at Quidditch. Draco had tried his best, of course, but aside from the late Cedric Diggory, Ginevra had been the only player to ever give Potter a run for his money. She was a better Quidditch player than Draco ever was, that was for sure, and one of the hottest girls in Hogwarts. Even Blaise, who was incredibly hard to please, couldn’t find fault with her. No wonder Potter...no, _Harry_ had fallen in love with her. Just for tonight, on this Hallowe’en night that would probably be their last on earth, Draco allowed himself the privilege of calling him by his name. 

Harry, whom Draco desperately wished would be his.

“Ginny!” Ron cried and pulled his sister into a crushing hug. 

“We were so sure we’d lost you both!” Hermione whispered. 

“What are you two doing here? _How_ did you get here?” asked Harry. 

Ginevra shrugged. “I don’t know, man. I wish I could tell you.” 

“A Dementor that had been chasing us around for a while found us hiding in Delphi’s room. It bore us away, and here we are,” Luna said mildly. And she launched into a very long and involved story about everything she and Ginevra had been through. 

Ron’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. But Draco could tell he was bursting with pride that his sister had faced down not only a Dementor but Tom Riddle again. 

“Oh Ginny, that was so brave of you,” Hermione said, looking near to tears, “And very, very advanced magic!” 

Harry gave them a small smile. “There’s a reason I make all my students learn the Bat-Bogey Hex. It’s a useful little spell.” 

As Harry quietly filled Ginny and Luna in on everything he, Ron, Hermione and Draco had been through, Draco let himself zone out for a bit. A whirring sound had taken over his brain. 

_Rumor has it that Delphi sacrifices victims to the Dementors on two days a year: May Day and Hallowe'en._

The words from Scamander’s book floated before his eyes in a beautiful ink-stained cursive, read aloud in Hermione’s voice. 

_The Heart of the Dark is one of the world’s strangest Death Eater cults._

_Delphi sees the Cosmos as a cycle with three fault lines: the boundaries between Humans and Nature, Wizards and Witches, and Life and Death._

_This cult worships Dementors as the gatekeepers of Death and Life._

_The Kiss is seen as a great honor among them; a chance, however slim, of grasping what lies beyond the states of Life and Death._

Draco opened his eyes. 

“Anyway,” Luna was saying with a gleaming smile, “Ginny and I are together now.”

She pulled the blushing redhead close and gave her a soft kiss on her freckled cheek. Hermione beamed. Harry clapped slowly and Ron wolf-whistled. Ginevra’s face had gone as red as her hair but Draco could tell she was very pleased to have her brother’s seal of approval. 

“I’m very happy for you. Congratulations, Luna,” Draco said quietly. 

Luna looked at him and an understanding passed between them. 

Draco did not look at Harry. 

Ron was frowning as though he was trying to figure something out. “Isn’t it weird how we were looking for you and found you guys, just like that? This doesn’t feel random. It feels like Delphi and whichever other fuckers are running the show wanted us to find you here.” 

“I’m inclined to agree,” Hermione said quickly. 

“It wasn’t random, it was planned,” Draco said dryly. 

Everyone turned to look at him. 

“Have you noticed that every single one of us except me has been tested in some way by our time here?” He asked. “Each and every one of you was forced to face your worst fears or deepest desires. Luna was tested by the Jabberwock, Ginny by a memory of the Dark Lord, Ron by the Mirror of Erised, Hermione by the temptation of everlasting knowledge, and Potter by Death.” 

“Golly, you’re right!” Harry cried.

Draco rolled his eyes. “I usually am, you know. Right, that is. You should listen to me more often.”

“And if I’m right,” he continued, “my test is scheduled to start right about now, and all of you are supposed to be watching as I take it.”

And as he said it, the room slowly filled with the sound of the plucked strings of a guitar. The notes of a violin shimmered in the background. No one could tell where the music was coming from. But the human heart on the table lit up with a weird red light and began to beat like a hollow drum in time to the music.

Somewhere in the tunnel, an invisible woman could be heard singing softly. And her voice oozed like a pot of poisoned silver honey.

“Delphi’s voice,” Harry muttered. 

_The things I’ll show to you_

The doors of the Vanishing Cabinet creaked open, it was empty save for what looked like a Pensieve, swirling with white and silver mist. What he saw there made Draco drop his wand. 

Draco as a child, eyes shining as his Father told him of Harry’s heroic defeat of the Dark Lord. Draco trying to make conversation with Harry at Madame Malkin’s before he even knew who he really was, a clumsy attempt to make friends that had somehow come out all wrong. Draco and the Rejected Handshake.

Draco in his second year at Hogwarts, writing a most embarrassing love poem about Potter that was only half-meant to annoy him, and letting Harry think Ginevra had written it. Draco in his sixth year, using magic to make sure his Sectumsempra scars didn’t heal, just so he could keep the memory of Harry’s touch burned into his skin forever, like the Dark Mark. 

In real time, Draco was flushed to the roots of his fine blonde hair, and he could see from the edge of his vision that Harry had gone very white. 

_The things I’ll give to you_

The mist took on a very different tone after that, and Draco realized they’d moved from memory to fantasy. 

There stood the Dark Lord, restored to the body of a handsome young man with blood-red eyes and a curtain of black hair. He was smiling and seated at the head of a table in Malfoy Manor. The table was lined with an array of tempting fruit. Apples and grapes and cherries and strawberries. This couldn’t be good. 

“Lord Voldemort rewards his most faithful followers.” The Dark Lord said in his high, cold voice. 

He lifted his foot, and Draco realized he had been using a very naked Harry as his footstool. His beautiful eyes were lined with kohl and painted with an eyeshadow that looked like gold fairy dust. Those eyes were red with tears of rage, terror, and heartbreak. The heartbreak of failing as the Chosen One. The heartbreak of letting the entire wizarding world down and losing all that was dear to him. He looked utterly mouth-watering. Draco felt a flare of lust followed by something that felt rather like self-loathing.

This was absurd. The Dark Lord would never have let Harry live once he had him in his grasp. Yet Draco found himself unable to look away.

“Thank you, master. _Thank you._ ” A shadow stepped out from the dark corners and bowed low before the Dark Lord, it took a moment for Draco to realize that…

Oh, Merlin. It was him. 

The Draco in the Pensieve had long hair and a sharp smirk and black robes that billowed behind him. He was clearly a powerful Dark wizard who was rolling in money, and proudly wore the Mark on his arm like it was a trophy. All the other Death Eaters bowed before him and spoke to him in oily, wheedling voices. Draco’s mouth went dry. It was filthy, disgusting, despicable of him, really. Everything about it was so wrong, but the sight of being an all-powerful Death Eater instead of being universally despised and having Harry all to himself was doing something to him. His childhood crush, the most desirable creature in all of the wizarding world, famous Harry Potter who could have anyone he ever wanted, who only ever looked at him like he was dirt under his boot, brought low before him. Harry had broken his heart without ever even realizing it, and it seemed he would pay dearly for it, if only in this dark world Draco could see but never touch. Draco looked longingly at the image in the mist and he could feel himself harden. This was a dear fantasy he often had but only admitted to himself late at night.

_It’s not too late, Draco._

_Join me in the Heart of the Dark and all this can be yours._

And now the Draco in the Pensieve had his Harry chained up somewhere in a dark room that looked like a shapeless cloud of smoke, and he was fucking the daylights out of him. Draco placed a kiss on his heart before bringing their lips together in a violent slam. Harry hissed in pain and thrashed about like a serpent. He bucked up and down trying to throw Draco off but only succeeded in driving him in deeper. Shuddering and broken, Harry turned his head to the side facing away from Draco. But Draco’s fist caught hold of a lock of midnight hair and forced him to meet his eyes. Those eyes were greener than the Great Lake at Hogwarts or trees in the Forbidden Forest or the colors of Slytherin. Greener even than the Killing Curse. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” The Harry in the Pensieve asked finally.

The Draco in the Pensieve rested his head against Harry’s chest, and a flicker of hope lit up in Harry’s eyes. But that hope died in an instant when a sick smile spread over his face: “Because I love you, and this is all I will ever have from you.”

“ENOUGH!” The real Draco roared. A shower of sparks flew from his wand, and the Pensieve disappeared.

There was a complete and utter ringing silence. Five pairs of eyes bored into him like tunnels of burning darkness. Draco lifted his chin in the way Father taught him and pulled his collar over his neck. He had never felt so exposed. It was a strange and confusing feeling. An awful feeling. Draco trained his eyes on Harry and waited for the inevitable explosion. 

“So,” Draco said with a twisted smile, “you know. What are you going to do about it?” 

Harry’s face was unreadable as he looked around the room. “I’ll wager everyone knew about this except me,” he said savagely. 

“I’m afraid so, mate,” Ron said, looking embarrassed. 

“Every single one of us,” Ginny said with a crooked grin that reminded Draco of the Weasley twins.

“I mean seriously mate, let’s be real,” Ron said reasonably, “that porno was all kinds of fucked up. But it was sent by Delphi to mess with us, wasn’t it? Just like the Mirror of Erised was for me. And it’s kind of hard to deny you two always had a thing for each other.” 

Harry said nothing, but his nostrils flared.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione sighed. “I’m sorry we never said anything. But we all thought Draco would come around eventually and that you two would sort it out for yourselves.”

“We overestimated your ability to be proactive,” Luna said lightly. 

Harry gave him a cold, unforgiving look. “You were never planning on telling me about this, were you, Draco?”

Draco swallowed hard and suddenly found the floor very interesting. “Don’t call me that!”

“Considering we just watched a soft-core porn film starring the two of us,” Harry said acidly, and Draco flinched, “surely you can tolerate me calling you by your first name for a moment. And we need to talk.” 

“We can talk later, Harry!” Draco snapped harshly. 

And indeed they could, because just then, the dead body of a woman fell through the wall inside the Cabinet onto the floor.

Draco, Harry, and the others ran over to her. She wore a crown of pink flowers on her head and was clad in white robes with a mother of pearl sheen.

The woman turned her face and grinned up at them. “Hello Draco, it’s me, Pansy!” 

Pansy’s sleek, shining head of black hair bobbed in the candlelight. Draco had always thought she was pretty, but he knew her snub nose and pouty lips made her look like a pug to some people. When they all got comfortable, she began her story. 

“I’d suspected it all along after your parents died, but I just had to be sure,” she said earnestly, looking up at him with hazel-green eyes,“Delphi, as you know by now, is one of the Dark Lord’s old followers. They have been using journals like the Poison Pen as a platform for their neo-Death Eater politics.”

“Every Hallowe’en and May Day, she and the Heart of the Dark have been offering human sacrifices to the Dementors in return for their protection. When they finish conducting magical experiments on the dead bodies, they dispose of them. They did that with your parents, Draco. And Rolf and Astoria. Now,” her voice lowered to a whisper, “they plan to do that with me and one of their own, Marietta Edgecombe. Marietta volunteered to be sacrificed, unlike yours truly. She believes deeply in the Heart of the Dark.”

“How did you escape?” Ginevra asked, bewildered. 

“You all arrived in the nick of time,” Pansy replied absently. “They robed me for the sacrifice, which is why I’m in this tacky nightshirt, but I managed to escape through the Vanishing Cabinet.” 

Her voice lowered. “Needless to say, I don’t like it here. I don’t like it at all! You shouldn’t have followed me to this place, but I left you a trail of letters just in case because I wanted to protect you, Draco. And I knew you could never leave well enough alone.”

Draco was oddly warmed by the fondness in her tone. 

There was the sound of footsteps and shouting. Draco could see torch light in the tunnel. All his Slytherin instincts told him Pansy was hiding something, that she wasn’t telling them the whole truth. “Pansy, who is Delphi? And if she really wants to sacrifice you and Marietta in secret, why does she want the rest of us here? Why hasn’t she killed us yet?”

Pansy stared at him with a strained smile on her face and paled a little. 

“Never mind all that, you can explain later. We need to get out of here, now!” Hermione hissed. 

“I know a place where we can hide until midnight passes.” Pansy said finally. 

“That’s great! Our Dream Potion will wear off by then and we can spirit you home,” Luna replied. 

“Follow me!” Pansy cried. She opened the doors and took off running. 

The others scrambled after her. 

“Where are you, Pansy?” Draco bellowed, his voice bouncing off the tunnel walls. 

“Here!”

“Here!” 

“Here!” 

“Here!”

Pansy’s voice echoed in several different directions.

They all found each other again. They had come through a cave into a clearing shaped like a funnel on a cliff. Once his head stopped spinning, Draco took a good look at what was in front of him. They had returned to the edge of the black waters where they’d first seen the turquoise jellyfish. 

Marietta Edgecombe and a witch wearing a black hood were waiting for them. Draco could tell she was a Dark witch. 

He was unsurprised to see Marietta. Draco had heard in a roundabout way that she had a falling out with Cho Chang in their seventh year, when Marietta refused to take a stand against the Dark Lord. And she had not been a part of the Battle of Hogwarts. Marietta was very pale but she had a serene, satisfied smile on her face. The word SNEAK was more prominent on her face than ever. Draco had disliked and despised her even when he’d been part of the Inquisitorial Squad, and she’d been the one to betray Harry and his gang. 

It took one coward to know another, he supposed. 

Pansy left Draco and ran happily over to them. 

“Oh Delphi, did I do it right?” She asked the witch wearing the hood, her voice perfectly cheerful and bright. 

“You did it beautifully!” Delphi exclaimed. 

Draco heard, but he didn’t believe. 

Pansy turned to Harry. “That’s twice now I’ve betrayed you, and I have no regrets. I made you believe you were hunting the Heart of the Dark but in fact it is we who were hunting you, and we have controlled your every thought and action since the time you arrived in the Land of Dreams. And Draco,” she said with a sneer, “I forgot to give you this. Please accept it from me as a token of our friendship.” 

And she handed him a golden bead in the shape of a word. 

_LIES_

“Everyone, listen to me,” Harry said suddenly, urgently, “if you picked up a bead as a clue on your way here, please give it here now.” 

Everyone had gone very still, but now they unfroze, fished out their beads, and handed them to him. Harry rearranged them in the right order: 

_I MUST NOT TELL LIES_

Harry strung the beads onto the gold necklace that Death had given him. He held it up where it sparkled in the evening sky. His lips were thin and white, and his right hand was trembling and balled in a fist. The very same phrase was etched on his hand as if it was written in acid. 

_“Hem, hem,”_ Delphi cleared her throat with a fake cough. 

Draco slowly looked up. He hadn’t heard that sound in over a decade. And apparently, neither had the others. 

Delphi lifted her hood. She seemed to revel in the dramatic effect of making them wait. Draco, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Luna, and Ginevra found themselves staring into the face of Dolores Umbridge.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos give me life, and inspire me to continue this story!


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